


Visual Boy

by Besin



Category: Kingdom Hearts
Genre: Alcohol, Alternate Universe - High School, F/M, Gen, Hacking, Inspired by true events, M/M, Marijuana, Portland, References to Drug Culture, References to Stoner Culture, Underage Drinking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-22
Updated: 2013-01-22
Packaged: 2017-11-26 12:52:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 14
Words: 40,403
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/650721
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Besin/pseuds/Besin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>His time spent at peace rallies and munching on seaweed and carrot sandwiches could be to blame, but so could his popularity, his hesitance to trust, and his swimming scholarship. Mostly, he blamed Laryngitis. Because if it weren't for that week without sound he would have never come into contact with the group of screw-ups. Based on a true story.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Artificial Intelligence

**Author's Note:**

> I do not own Kingdom Hearts.

This is a story of High School.

If you haven't left yet, good for you.

Now, like any other High School story there is a main character who plays the role of “Hero” without doing much in the way of anything. Because that, after all, is what teenagers actually do in their free time; absolutely nothing. Don't be fooled. However, our character is a Hero, so that should make him different, right?

Wrong.

Moving right along, now. Keep up, keep up.

Like many others in the past - Batman, for example - our Hero has a secret. A deep, dark secret that he cannot tell anyone; but unlike Batman, if he revealed his secret he would face ostracism and disgust from many an angle. Society is like that, you see, and societies were far more suspicious and tighter knit back then.

We have now reached the point that prompts the collective thought of, “Oh - I can handle his secret! I'm an open-minded individual with a heart of gold! I'm practically Jesus!” And while your thought might not have occurred exactly like this, there's a good chance it crossed the dear reader's mind. But it would greatly alarm the writer should it have actually occurred thus, in which case she would have two words for you.

“Get out.”

Now then, just to be fair and warn you, the beloved reader, this secret has a bit of the “gross” factor.

Yes, dear reader; if you have not already left you have just been given the writer's blessing to do so. No one would blame you. And now that we have hit the end of yet another tangent, the writer fears that the story will never occur and wishes to get down to business. Consider this to be your last warning.

Our Hero - let's call him “Demyx” - is a rather peculiar boy. And though he is not the only peculiar boy in the world, let alone in this tale, he still manages to be quite strange. He had been raised by a single mother - let's call her “Wisteria” - and children of single mothers tend to be unusually well-rounded in their strangeness. He had been raised on Peace rallies and spinach. Naturally, there wasn't much for the boy to hate. (Except for peanuts, but that was due to an allergy-induced life-or-death race to the hospital when the boy was three.)

Our Hero's story really begins one bright Saturday many years ago - June 11th, 1983 to be exact. The family of two attended an impromptu peace rally in the park. (And while this may seem odd to you, they lived in Portland, Oregon. Strange, to one such as the reader, is considered very normal there. Things like impromptu peace rallies and tea cozies made of acorn-tops were common.) See, little Demyx had wandered around the rally like he always did, making sure to navigate in a small circle around his mother and to keep her in sight at all times. And being the peculiar, sweet, adorable little boy that he was he made quite a few friends - one of which offered him a soda, which he took with a smile.

Later that day, his mother laid out their hemp blanket in the grass and they cuddled, munching on seaweed and carrot sandwiches. Which, as we all know, is an appropriate snack for any two vegans. They watched the sun set with matching grins, and only when the stars - what could be seen of them in the city, that is - peeked their little lights from behind the sky did they pack up. And finally the two skipped home, pleased by their day well-spent.

A week later the small boy awoke to painful pus-filled boils infesting his lips and the more sensitive insides of his mouth.

And that, dear readers, is how Demyx contracted Oral Herpes.

-Visual-Boy-

Lesson One: Artificial Intelligence

-Visual-Boy-

The year was 1996, and some jerk had decided to donate twenty computers to Demyx's school.

Okay, now that's not true. We all know that anyone who donates _anything_ useful, let alone something as awesome as a computer, is automatically _not_ a jerk. But one must keep in mind the times. 1996. Yup.

Demyx, during that particular year, was convinced that he would never understand computers. They were the world's shiny new invention designed to torture teenagers and waste money. At least, they were through his eyes. Every other week “designers” came out with new programs - programs technologically illiterate teachers would try to teach him to use.

Naturally, teaching him to “use” a computer was easier said than done. Their instructions were simple, but still a bit lacking for the blond. Then again, they _were_ :

1\. Press the on button, then hit it twice up the side of the base.

2\. Log in, and shortly follow your password with a light “tap” to the front with your foot.

3\. Click something - anything - and proceed to abuse the thing with a baseball bat as the machine sputters, freezes, and fights to load every individual pixel.

While in modern society people will kick you to the curb for even _looking_ at their laptop wrong, in the old days these things were crash-proof. And hand-proof. And foot-proof. And baseball-bat-proof. And - Demyx's personal favorite - user-proof. Very, very user-proof. (Why else would they make them crash-proof?)

“You have to learn how to work them,” his teacher would tell them every so often. “Computers are the future, and one day that future will arrive. Typing will be a necessary skill! Entire buildings will be run by technology! Cars will drive themselves! People will be able to buy things from halfway across the world without leaving their homes!”

Seeing as the newer models of computers seemed to be getting bigger and bigger, with increasingly useless functions, Demyx really didn't see the point. He could already open a door on his own. Why would he need a computer to do it for him?

“Psst!”

Keeping his eyes on the screen, the blond stared at his own reflection - green-blue eyes, thin face, long limbs; the works. He was attractive. He was popular.

“Hey! Hey Demyx!”

He was also trying to ignore the boy at the door of the computer lab, whose reflection was not an inch below his left ear, motioning not-so-subtly for him to come over.

“What the fuck, Demyx? Just turn the fuck around!” Looking away from the monitor, the seated teen fought down a condescending glare. “Get over here!” the other boy hissed, peeking out from the side of the door frame, body obscured behind the wall. Making a motion with his fingers - a pinch at the lips shortly followed by the removal and a small exhale - the teen giggled.

“What the Hell, Seifer?” Demyx hissed back. “I'm in the middle of class here!”

The boy rolled his eyes. “Come _on_ man! Don't leave me out to dry after I came all this way.”

Turning back to his computer, Demyx stared blankly at the equally blank screen. Word - or whatever they were calling it - stared right back at him. _Type for me,_ he thought. _Type yourself. You're a computer, right? Shouldn't you have, like, artificial intelligence or something?_

No go.

“Demyx!”

“Mr. Almasy!” The two boys shrunk as the teacher stepped away from the sea of bulky contraptions that hummed like it was D-day to approach the blond at the door.

“Hello, Mrs. Beast,” the boy greeted through his teeth.

“Seeing as you aren't in class at the moment, would you like to take part in our seminar? I'm sure you would benefit from the experience.” From his crouched position behind the door, Seifer attempted to sneak a peek beneath the woman's pencil-skirt. “Stand Mr. Almasy; this isn't story time.”

“Yes Ma'am.” Stumbling to his feet, the teen tried not to cower under the woman's gaze.

“Take a seat.”

“Yes Ma'am.”

Demyx almost laughed as his friend all but ran to the seat beside him, plopping down without ceremony. In the process, he missed the look of death the teacher sent him. “You alright there?”

“Yeah,” the boy replied, glancing over with a scowl. Straightening, he glared at his friend. “Jeez - even sitting you're taller than me.” Demyx did laugh, then, but was careful to keep it under his breath. “So what are we doing here?”

The blond shrugged. “Typing, I think. Open something on your desktop called 'Word.'”

“Desktop?”

“Just log in - student ID number and birth date.”

“ID number?”

“It's on your ID card.”

Digging out said card, the other blond scowled before turning to the keyboard and tapped curiously at the keys. He watched as Seifer sent the information, only to violently jerk as a pop-up jumped before him. “Crap! You said birth date, right?”

“Yeah - like how you write it on a math test, but without the dividers.”

“Oh...” He tried again, and it began to load. “Cool... I guess.”

Demyx rolled his eyes. “You only think that because it's being nice to you.”

“What - like in a relationship?”

“I guess.”

“So we're in the honeymooning stage.”

“Yeah - except this passes quicker. Soon it'll start walking all over you and demanding your wallet.” Turning his eyes to Demyx for a moment, then back to the screen, Seifer began to regard the device with apprehension and suspicion. Mentally, the blond patted himself on the back, proud that he had alerted yet another person to the hazardous evil that was the personal computer.

Now that his friend was up close, the taller boy tried not to stare at the scar marring what would have been a handsome face. It started just above one eyebrow, cut across a flawless nose, and continued under the other eye. It was a wonder the other teen was popular, with such an extreme cosmetic disfigurement.

When the teacher wasn't looking, Seifer nudged him. “Hey, you up for some grass after this?”

Shaking his head in a negative, Demyx glanced back to make sure the teacher hadn't heard his friend before replying. “No thanks.”

“Traitor,” the other joked.

Demyx shrugged. “Someone has to say no.”

“Okay - I have to respect you for that.” Unbidden, a grin sneaked onto the unmarred blond's face as he realized just why they were friends. “But seriously - you gotta try it sometime. It's awesome.” His only response was Demyx reaching up to tap the DARE button permanently affixed to his chest. “Damn you.”

“Mr. Almasy,” Mrs. Beast warned. “I can hear you.”

“Sorry, Mrs. Beast,” he apologized half-heartedly before turning back to his screen. But, like before, he couldn't stay quiet for long. “Got any plans after school?” he whispered. “Those losers from Bay are having a foam sword tournament in Ester Short Park.”

Staring at the screen in false interest, Demyx tried to recall what he had going on that day. “Can't - swim practice. Then I have to run home and help Mom.”

Seifer scoffed. “Like, literally run? You're kidding, right? It's pouring - I'll give you a ride.”

“Don't worry about it,” the blond replied. “Besides, you should go early. The sooner you leave, the sooner you can school those 'Couve rats. Show them where they can shove their dime-store foam swords.”

“Amen to that!”

-Visual-Boy-

October in Portland is, in a word, wet. However, as that word can be used to describe the Portland-Vancouver metropolitan area during the other eleven months of the year, this doesn't say much in the way of anything. Back in the day, in the dawn of the decade our story takes place, the weather was very similar. That is, to say, wet. Windy. Cold. Ungodly damp. And, like every other Portland bred-born-and-raised citizen, Demyx did not own an umbrella.

Oddly enough, everything could be traced back to this.

Unbeknownst to Demyx, as he ran home from school that fateful October 11th, 1996 - a Friday - a specter began to follow him. A representation of Life itself, cloaked in the most cliché of long, flowing white robes and sporting the most overused forms of fictional anatomy - that of a human skeleton. Through the city, past Powel's, past Rocko's Pizza, and through downtown it shadowed him. Until, finally, they arrived at the residential district. By then its work had been done and it faded into the background. But not for long. Soon it would return for him.

His life had finally been set in motion.

-Visual-Boy-

A week after the aforementioned jaunt through the rain, shit had hit the fan.

Twice.

“Well look at this - my baby has laryngitis!” Demyx's mother was not a pillar of support when he was ill. “It's your own fault for yacking your mouth off when you have a cold.” Nope. Not a pillar of support.

The worst part of it was that the blond couldn't defend himself. Literally.

When he'd woken that morning he'd found his voice a nonexistent gasp, and when his mother had seen how he was over his cold but unable to speak she'd begun laying down the ground rules. All the while almost literally forcing his home-made, home-dyed hemp backpack onto him.

“Now,” Wisteria announced, putting on airs to make herself look bigger as she brought herself up to all of her five-foot-two-inches of height. Her son, an intimidating eleven inches taller, trembled in the presence of her glory. “You are going to drink your lemon tea, then you are going to eat an orange. After that you will walk to school with my umbrella - don't give me that look! It's bamboo, not kitten leather dyed pink with neon-green polka dots and aborted baby key chains. Speaking of which, it is your baby until you can speak. And until you are coherent you will _not_ go to swim practice. You will _not_ dawdle in cold climates for _any_ reason.

“You will not gripe, whine, whisper, moan, groan, speak, utter, or vocalize anything for two days. If you witness a murder walk away and drag someone to the crime scene. If a police officer stops you on the street you pull out your note cards. You don't speak for anyone; not even the president. Not even God. I don't care if someone is about to step in a basket of kittens - let them squish the goddamn crap out of the Godforsaken creatures. Have I made myself clear?”

Unable to do anything more, Demyx nodded, stirring his lemon tea with a look of utter dejection on his face.

Breaking into a great grin, his mother pulled him into a tight hug before holding him at arms-length. “Now, where did you put your mouth guard, funny lips?”

Despite how stupid it was, Demyx loved his nickname. Even if it spawned from the lip-covering mouth-guard he wore during Herpes outbreaks to cover the sores. 

The blond had no idea if people usually hid it like this. But, then, people with Herpes weren't very forthcoming about their condition.

-Visual-Boy-

“Hey, Demyx!” Turning in his seat, Demyx found himself face to face with a petite redhead, all smooth skin, long hair, and model-skinny limbs. He grinned in greeting. “Rocking the lips today, huh? Copacetic.”

“Someone's been watching too many Freddie Prince Jr. movies, again,” Seifer commented, coming in beside her with a grin.

A tall brunette passed by, throwing a comment their way. “Please - I don't know what's more pathetic: the fact that she watches them or the fact that you actually remember the guy's name.”

“Watch it,” Seifer hissed just as the redhead declared, “They're going to be classics one day and you'll all bow to my exquisite taste!”

“Kairi, Seifer, Demyx,” a taller boy murmured as he approached. He was a wall of muscle, with bright orange hair shoved beneath a beanie. He easily topped Demyx's six-foot-one by a good three inches, marking himself as ungodly, freakishly tall. Appropriately, he was a lineman on the football team.

“Lexaeus!” Kairi greeted enthusiastically. “Pair with me for P.E. today? Please? Pretty pretty please with a cherry on top?”

“I'll pair with you if it's _your_ cherry on top,” Seifer sneered. The redhead rightly ignored him.

“Please?”

The taller boy shrugged. “I don't see why not.”

It was just before the beginning of first period and, to be frank, Kairi wasn't supposed to be anywhere near them. Her homeroom was clear across the school. Nevertheless, she was there, talking up a storm as Seifer interjected with crude comments and Lexaeus agreed with everything she said. Meanwhile, Demyx just sat there, observing. What did he observe, you might ask? Well, it's very simple.

First he observed the ceiling. He counted the squares one by one across, then front-to-back and multiplied. It was then, for the fourth time in his life, that he became aware that every single class was perfectly square with exactly 144 square feet of room. Then he turned his eyes to the chairs, which doubled as desks. The students were packed in like sardines, with barely enough room to sidle between the seats sideways - or jostle into two parallel clusters if you happened to be built like Lexaeus. (Read: Ridiculously cut.)

Third, he observed the brick wall to his left. The reddish hue had been painted over with a subdued gray - not that he minded. He liked gray. Gray was soothing. Gray was neutral. Nobody really fought over gray, because nobody knew what gray was. Everyone figured it was a shade, but sometimes it looked like it had blue in it, which would make it a dusty blue. But then, gray was one of those in-between colors that no one really noticed. Maybe that was why nobody fought over it.

Fourth was the desk. He ran lazy fingers over the engravings others had left for future attendees over the past. Things like, “Devin was here,” “Call Ashley for a good time,” followed by a number, and the “S” made from vertical, horizontal, and diagonal lines. Then there were the equations. “2 + 2 = Fish,” “2 + 2 = 4, dumbass,” and his personal favorite, “5 – shoes = orgy.” These messages could be considered entertaining when compared to Social Studies.

Finally, he turned his eyes out the window. He took in the grass and the sky. Memorized the way the clouds ambled across like they had all the time in the world. Saw the last of the day's students racing to the front gates like chickens with their heads cut off. And like every other person who had been born and raised in the North-West, he didn't even realize the trees were there.

The bell rang, and Demyx clenched his jaw against his mouth-guard, preparing for another day of silence.

-Visual-Boy-

“So you can't talk?” Seifer looked far too pleased with this information.

It was finally lunch time, and Demyx looked very much like a kicked puppy. The kind that didn't look you straight in the eye so it looked ten times more pathetic. Even Seifer wanted to hug him, and Seifer wasn't the hugging type. No, really. The shorter boy's idea of cuddling consisted of two very disconnected chairs at least seven feet apart, a B-list movie, and two separate bowls of popcorn. And that's on a good day.

“Are you going to be okay?” Kairi asked, reaching out a hand to touch the mute boy's shoulder. It was a comforting weight, not that Demyx would have been able to admit it. Touchy-feely things were great for girls, but unless he wanted to start reading poetry and hanging out in the library he'd get hell from the guys. “Laryngitis is rough.”

Pressing his pencil to a blank note card, Demyx replied in his usual fashion. _It's only for a few days._

“Yeah, but sometimes they last two weeks - and sometimes it doesn't go away.”

Seifer rolled his eyes. “Your optimism is overwhelming, Kairi.”


	2. Pick Up the Slack

Many wonder how a day in the life of Seifer might begin, continue, and end. Because being Seifer must be absolutely amazing. He's popular, he's attractive, he's smart, he's athletic; he practically got away with murder in High School. Every day life must have been amazing.

Well, it had a beginning, a middle, and an end; that was for damn sure.

Seifer found the world boring. The people in it were boring. The rules they made were boring. Everything that ever existed was boring, boring, boring, boring, _boring_. It seemed to be that nothing had meaning, aside from the standard “I exist” clause.

Or, at least, that's what it seemed like until he turned sixteen and discovered sex. And porn. And marijuana, of course, because when he wasn't screwing someone under the bleachers there was a bowl within five feet and he was sky high. That was all one needed to manipulate him. Simple, yes, but he was a teenager; cut him some slack.

In 1996 to 1997, which happen to be the years during which this story takes place, Seifer's day began, as most teen male's do, with masturbation. As he was not highly religious (and would later proclaim himself to be Agnostic) there was no guilt involved. Just a little fun in the bed to wake him up. Or in the shower. Or on the toilet. Or in front of the mirror. In general, anywhere his parents couldn't see him. And seeing as he is seventeen going on eighteen during the course of our story we cannot really blame him.

After his “alone time” the boy would take a shower, as he had come into the world equipped with an abnormally sharp nose and a generous helping of body odor. (The former being a wondrous gift many a teen could benefit greatly from.) In said shower he had a routine - hair, right arm, chest, left arm, stomach, legs, his back (because he was flexible like that,) the fun bits, neck, ears, and face. Once he was done with that he dressed. Shirt, socks, beanie, boxers, pants, and shoes were put on in that order.

From then came school. No explanation necessary.

Occasionally Seifer had someone to hang out with afterward, but in general the boy had nothing to do but play video games. Most of the time he went over to Demyx's house and munched on tofu flakes and seaweed-carrot sandwiches, blowing his evening all in one go.

Usually being Seifer was painfully boring. And so, naturally, he had a secret or two to spice things up. But unlike our hero, Seifer would never develop something that we shall refer to as a “social death wish.” What were his secrets, you ask? Well, they wouldn't be secrets if he told.

-Visual-Boy-

Lesson Two: Pick up the Slack

-Visual-Boy-

In history there are many great, unforgettable turning points. During said points human-kind tends to overcome great obstacles and change many a mind, or they proceed to let an even greater number of people down. Examples: Fourth of July, the Alamo, Woodstock, and Pearl Harbor. But what about the days between these dates? And days before it, leading up to the event? These are usually forgotten, but are equally as important, if not more so.

Example: The day Benjamin Franklin learned to fly a kite.

And it just so happens that such an event occurred in this story, as well. And it took place on October 18th, 1996. Write it down. Tell your friends. They won't know what you're talking about, but tell them anyway.

On this particular Friday, Demyx was still down with Laryngitis. And just like the day before, he attended school with his funny-lipped mouth guard in. His arrival at school prompted a brief wave from his friends, and they continued to the institution as usual, unaware that Life had followed close behind the boy, all smirks and boney grins.

In first period absolutely nothing happened.

In second period Demyx realized that he'd lost his pencil.

In third period the blond began to panic.

During lunch the shit that would usually proceed into the fan just sat in his lap, destined to only affect him.

“ - so then Meg said, 'I could see through the innocent farm boy routine in a New York minute.'”

“But he was so nice!”

“I know, right?”

There he was. Stranded in the midst of Kairi and half a dozen of her friends as they chatted each other up about their excursion into Vancouver the day before. The cafeteria, complete with students, lunch ladies, and the standard pressed-wood plastic-y tables with attached benches, was a wasteland of bad food and social circles. And in the usual High School style, it was the day he couldn't speak that he was surrounded by pretty girls. Very intimidating pretty girls.

Then they all turned to him.

“So, Demyx, is 'farm boy' actually a routine?” He shook his head 'no,' then tried his damnedest to sink into the seat as he poked at his Jell-O with a spoon. They continued on without him for what seemed like ages, but it was no longer than five minutes. Students at the end of the line had finally begun to make their way all the way through, and the stragglers were settling into their seats before anyone spoke to the blond again.

Kairi laughed. “Remind me to ask you when you can talk whether or not all guys are jerks.” He moved his spoon in a circle, then waved it at her with a shrug. “Umm... Sure,” she agreed. “Whatever that means.”

“He said it depends on the guy, and that you really shouldn't assume guys are jerks when first meeting them.”

All eyes turned to the pair at the end of the table. The first was a girl, shorter than most with a body a model would envy. Pale as paper and thin as a rail, she stood with all the confidence that came with good posture. Her face was, for lack of a better word, cute. A small nose sat delicately above an equally small mouth, which had a fuller lower lip than upper, and big blue eyes that stared out from dyed black hair that had been cropped short. A black V-neck hugged her waist nicely. Demyx fought the urge to stare.

Equally as short as the girl, the one who had spoken was a boy who looked to be a year younger than the blond. His features were sharp, contrasting with his meager height. Hair fell over one side of his face, dyed periwinkle. Like the girl he wore black, though unlike her plain visage his had a screen design. Demyx recognized it as the cover art for In Utero. The science dummy with wings was infamous. It hung on a body that was nothing more than skin and bones. His wrists were painfully thin, and he looked horribly malnourished.

“No one asked you,” a girl spat from their group, remaining turned away from the guests.

“Was he right, Dem?” Kairi asked, earned a series of rolled eyes from the others in their group. Unable to do any more, the boy nodded. She turned to the boy, surprised. “How did you do that?”

He shrugged before muttering, “Spoon Language,” and walked away, wiggling his fingers in the air a bit over his shoulder. The girl followed close after him, combat boots clunking across the floor after his converse, until they drew even and wiggled her fingers back. After this the crowd of females around Demyx muttered small obscenities about them.

“Isn't that Xion and Zexion? I heard they're on crack - that's why they're so skinny.”

“He totally disappeared from middle school one year, too. Apparently he spent a year in Aspen, and while he was there he got a naked Clown tattooed on his stomach.”

“No way!”

“Way.”

“They're total sluts, too. Sleep with anything that moves, but mostly each other. It's a _very_ open relationship.”

“Actually, I think he's gay.” All eyes turned to Kairi at this. “What?”

-Visual-Boy-

“If this is some geek-outreach program you're wasting you're time.”

Demyx shrugged.

Shortly after school had ended the blond had made a point to stick to the strange boy - Zexion - like glue. It seemed his attentions were unwanted. “I have club activities. Leave me alone.” He shrugged again. “Just because you're mute for the day doesn't mean you can follow me.” He lifted one shoulder, then the other, and wiggled his fingers. “Fine, you can tag along, but don't participate. You'll only get yourself lost.”

Demyx grinned, proud to have won.

They continued down the hallway, Zexion with his grumpy disposition and Demyx with his big, uncalled for grin stretching awkwardly around his mouth guard. Down the stairs they went, then up another hallway, and through three doors. Finally, after what seemed to be an eternity, they arrived in a room the blond had never been in despite being in his Senior year. There was a grand total of one thing in the room, aside from the desks - a single poster. And it was of hands in different positions.

“Hey Zexion,” someone called, coming over to them. It was the girl from before - Xion. “New addition?”

“No idea - he just won't leave me alone.” Demyx grinned wider. “See? He's crazy.”

Then, much to the blond's surprise, they began to make the little movements with their hands from earlier, but they were slightly different. There was some ear-tugging, and mouth-touching, and some pinky-twists that confused the boy to no end.

“Demyx, right?” Xion asked. Demyx jumped, having stood in silence for so long watching the exchange. After processing what she had asked he nodded. “Welcome to the ASL club.”

“There isn't much you can do,” Zexion snipped. “You kind of can't participate unless you know it.” That was all it took for Demyx to feel like an ass for tagging along.

Xion rolled her eyes. “Don't be like that. Here-” she began, walking over to one of the desks, which had a bag atop it. She reached in and pulled out a very, _very_ thick book. “If you're serious about learning you can borrow this. It's a ASL Text Book.”

Demyx took the book, but simply stared at the cover for a while. He didn't even know what “ASL” was.

Without anything better to do, he took a seat and started reading.

He was surprised when the next time he looked up it was getting dark, and Zexion was giving him a look that spoke volumes of how incredibly baffled he was. A light blush dusted the shorter boy's cheeks. “Come on - I'll give you a ride home,” he said.

Grinning, Demyx tapped his chin with his fingers, then pointed to the boy.

_Thank you._

That was all it took to change his life.

It was much like Benjamin Franklin learning to fly a kite.

-Visual-Boy-

Monday had dawned the way that days in the North-West usually do; cloudy with a chance of rain. Lots of rain. 

“Just because you came to one ASL club meeting doesn't mean you're my friend.”

“Says who?”

“Says me, halfwit.”

Upon spotting Zexion running through the school parking lot, Demyx had promptly decided to stalk the poor boy. (All the while Life snickered by the front doors.) Immediately, the shorter boy had begun to stomp his way over to the building, scowl thick on his face.

“In that case I'll just keep that ASL book a bit longer, then.”

Drawing his coat closer around the front, the shorter boy attempted to pick up the pace, only to find it immediately matched by the blond. “Take that up with Xion - it's her book.”

“Speaking of which, is she single?”

Without warning, Zexion stopped dead in his tracks just in front of the school's double doors. Turning to face the taller boy, he fixed him with a glare. “Is that what this is about?” he griped incredulously.

The boy blinked. “Huh?”

“Leave Xion alone, okay?” he snapped. “She doesn't need people like you clogging up her air.”

“People like me, huh?” Demyx scoffed. “Possessive, much?”

“ _Protective._ There's a difference.” It was at this point that he turned on his heel and stormed through the open double doors. “Point is, you need to leave us alone.”

“What if I don't want to?”

“Well, then, sucks for you.” Increasing his pace, the blue-haired boy turned into the girl's bathroom, much to the Hero's surprise.

It was then that Demyx was offered a series of choices. First; tell the staff member that almost immediately passed by that a boy was in the girl's bathroom. Second; wait outside until Zexion came out to attend homeroom. Third; go in himself and confront the boy until a girl came in. Four; walk away.

Oddly enough, he went with secret number five; go out to see his friends, only to come across Xion in the hallways.

“Hey, Demyx,” the girl greeted warmly, waving, drawing attention to the chastity ring on her left hand where a wedding band would go. “Have you seen Zexion?”

Shrugging, the boy couldn't help but enjoy the humor of the situation. “He's in the girl's bathroom.” She stared at him oddly. “What?”

“I'm going to pretend that it's perfectly normal. Which bathroom?”

The blond scoffed. “Normal is overrated,” he mused before turning. And, feeling like showing off, he signed, _This way, My Lady._ Xion giggled, then wound her left arm in his before signing back.

 _If you say so, My Lord._ They shared a small laugh at this before she signed something else. His confusion must have given him away, because she repeated it in plain English. “You've gotten pretty far for just a weekend.”

“I had nothing to do,” he replied as they turned the corner. “Well, here we are,” he said, pointing to the bathroom. Before he could say anything more she had charged right into the bathroom and came out moments later dragging the periwinkle-haired boy by his hood. Shrugging, the blond turned to leave. He ignored the slide of flesh on flesh - the sound of fast sign language - as he turned the corner and trudged through the hallway. After a minute of walking, his mind traitorously supplied that Xion and Zexion kind of looked good together.

-Visual-Boy-

After spending a good section of lunch and ten minutes after school perusing the non-fiction section and fighting with the school's computerized book-list, Demyx had to admit defeat.

It was official - the library didn't have anything on ASL. Trudging through the hallways towards the gym, the blond tried not to let his feet drag too much. ASL had turned out to be a sort of addiction over the weekend, distracting him from swimming warmups and weekend practice. And after their altercation that morning it was unlikely that Zexion would be willing to help him.

Naturally, the periwinkle-haired boy chose that moment to pop out of almost literally nowhere and stare him down. Demyx paused, aqua eyes linking with blue, and tried not to move too much. Why he wasn't trying to move, he had no idea.

“You're a hard guy to find, Demyx O'Donohue.” Silence. “I have a question; how does it feel knowing that your friends will abandon you the moment your secret goes public?”

Demyx balked, his throat closing up. “What are you talking about?”

“General popularity, mostly,” he drawled. “Although a small part of it could be considered to be a critique of modern day life.”

The blond scoffed in an attempt to hide his discomfort. “What? You saying you don't want to be popular?”

“Of course I want to be popular. _Everyone_ wants to be popular,” the shorter boy retorted. “It's a base desire to be liked, just as it is to eat, drink, and survive as a populace. That's natural. What's _un_ natural is how everyone treats it like the number one base desire rising above everything else. Popularity is an illusion.”

“And illusion? How is being liked an illusion?”

“They're nice to you because they think if they're noticed by you they, in turn, will become popular. Like I said; an illusion. Just like your normality and openness.”

“So now you're assuming I'm normal?”

“To an extent, yes.” Turning his gaze to the wall, Zexion suppressed a grin. “So what's your secret? Sex? Drugs? Rock and Roll?” These first three are stupid enough to make the blond chuckle to himself, but the teen suppressed the urge as the shorter boy went on.

“Cross dressing? Clubbing? Oedipus ambitions? Minority sexual orientation? S and M? Kid on the side? Gender change? Foot fetish?”

“No - nothing like that!” Demyx glanced around the desolate hallways. After hours or not, there might have been someone there. “And quiet down! Someone might find us!”

Zexion rolled his eyes. “Right - this school district is too cheap to hire afternoon guards, and their 'alarm' isn't tripped by sound. The only reason we even _have_ a night guard is because of insurance reasons.” Screwing his face up, the boy then inquired in a husky whisper, “AIDs?” Demyx paled. “Oh my God, you have AIDs.”

“I do _not_ have AIDs,” the taller boy hissed.

“What? You went white as a sheet! What am I supposed to think?”

“That having AIDs would be scary as Hell!”

“All because some jerk-offs couldn't keep their hands off the monkey exhibit.” The two sat in silence for a moment after this tangent. “So what is it?”

“What makes you think I'll tell you?”

“Because the rumor mill will believe anything, Dumbo.”

“Jesus!” Demyx hissed, running a hand through his hair. “Just... not now - I have swim practice. And not here. Someone might be listening.”

Zexion's eyebrows rose. “Well, I guess you have to keep your popularity somehow.” Demyx glared, but to the world Zexion appeared completely unaffected. “Meet me outside the ASL clubroom after practice, then.”

Feeling a bit of gumption take him over, Demyx snapped, “Why should I?”

Leaning against the wall, Zexion observed his nails. “Because if someone gets curious – and someone always does – you could find yourself in a very bad position.”


	3. Oasis

Xion did not wear make-up.

While many girls her age were caking on the powders and paints, the raven-haired girl preferred to wash her face every other day, then leave it be. While other girls were growing out their hair and grooming it within an inch of its life, Xion cropped hers to her ears and left it at that. While other girls her age were wearing pretty clothes and collected shoes in every color of the rainbow, she invested in one good pair of combat boots and procured her laundry from Goodwill. The clothing flattered her figure, the thick soles made her taller, and she walked with a confidence that surpassed her years. And so the boys stared.

Other girls did not like this, obviously. “What could possibly be so interesting about her?” they would whisper to themselves in the hallways as the black haired girl passed by, stewing in their jealousy. “Is it because she sways her hips? I sway my hips. Am I not doing it right?”

To answer their question, yes. They were not doing it right. The fact that men and boys alike found themselves stuck in a stare as Xion passed had nothing to do with the way her hips swayed with every step, or how her hair was the exact shade of ebony that would send all of her features into high contrast. What, you may ask, made her so attractive? A cocktail of secrets, for one. And two?

She was mature.

-Visual-Boy-

Lesson Three: Oasis

-Visual-Boy-

Demyx went to ASL club after practice, only to find the room barren of people, aside from a blond kid sitting in the corner fiddling with his backpack. “Umm...” he voiced quietly, looking around and behind him in confusion. “This can't be right...”

“Demyx!” a familiar voice greeted joyfully. Surprised, he spun so fast he fell over, colliding with the door frame shoulder first. “Careful, there!”

Glancing up, the boy hid a wide grin. “Hi, Xion,” he responded, grabbing at the frame to right himself. “Have you seen Zexion?”

“He had to run to the office,” she explained. She signed as she spoke, but Demyx found himself staring at her lips, not her hands. “He should be back in a bit. Wait if you want – I'll wait with you.” In a move that made him think it was an afterthought, the girl turned to stare at something on the wall, then jumped. “Scratch that,” she corrected, brushing past him in the doorway and stepping up to the desk with her things. “I actually have to leave, so I'll see you around.”

“What? Carriage turn into a pumpkin?” the blond joked, hoping to God she didn't see the way his knees went weak after she brushed by him. He wondered for a moment if she could read minds. Not that it would help her; his brain was a pile of mush.

She laughed. “You could say that.” Throwing a leather jacket on, shortly followed by a ratty messenger bag that looked like it had been through a war, she breezed by him once more. “Have a good one!”

Unable to resist the temptation, Demyx responded in Sign Language. Later. While it wasn't overly elaborate, it didn't go unnoticed. Without warning Xion was flying forward, locking her arms around his waist and holding him tight. His heart thundered hard against his chest, racing itself to an unknown finish line as he felt her laugh.

When she pulled away he felt as relieved as he was disappointed. You're doing great! she replied in sign. Keep up the good work!

Then she left, and it took all of Demyx's will to keep him standing, and not in a puddle of goo on the floor.

If that was his reward for learning something in Sign Language he couldn't wait to learn more.

-Visual-Boy-

“Are you afraid of the dark?”

Let me ask you this, dear reader: Would you expect anyone to ask you this out of the blue with no prompting whatsoever? What's that? Yes, you do? Then you're crazy. Here's a quarter – go over to that pay-phone over there and call a hotline or something.

Moving right along, with the sane members of the audience in tow (hello sane people,) we rejoin our hero as he stares at a wall. It was a very original white, complete with equally original plaster and shockingly original paint.

When someone tapped him on the shoulder, Demyx looked up from the wall (which, in all fairness, had an ASL letter poster – you know the one – tacked to it) to stare with curiosity at the blond boy who had approached him. All of a sudden he had the urge to tilt his head to the side and chirp. He didn't know why, and didn't dwell on the thought because it was just one of many going through his subconscious. Another was what he would be having for dinner, but we all know that any man/boy/human possessing anything even slightly resembling a penis has that thought at least five to six-billion times a day, so that would be a given. Either way, the bird thought had a big enough impact on him – subconsciously, of course – to make his head tilt just a bit to the side.

This movement was obviously misunderstood by the shorter teen, because their next line was in sign language.

He obviously thought Demyx was deaf.

“Sorry – what?”

The boy rolled his eyes. “Are you afraid of the dark?” he asked again, and the taller boy was shocked to be on the receiving end of a very heavy British accent.

“No?”

Then the boy smirked. It was a scary smirk. A smirk to end all smirks and turn them into something darker. Like chocolate, but not as tasty. Definitely not as tasty. “I'm Vanitas.” He held out a hand. Demyx noted his nails had been colored with markers. Black markers. The kind your parents told you not to sniff or draw on your skin with. Vanitas himself looks a good sniff away from dancing.

In an epileptic, I'm-About-To-Drop-Dead way, that is.

Demyx reached out one nervous hand to shake, suddenly aware of the safety pins riddling the most-likely-younger boy's shirt, pants, and (oddly enough) shoes. 'Has he ever killed anyone with those pins?' he thought. “My name's Demyx,” he said.

“Yes, but who are you?”

The question was odd, but the taller boy didn't argue. He was too fearful of a safety-pin-induced death. For lack of anything else to say, he hesitantly announced, “I'm Stormageddon, dark lord of all?” This Vanitas character gave him a really bad vibe. As the saying goes – do what they imply today so you don't wind up in some dumpster behind the cafeteria with your socks pulled up to your esophagus tomorrow.

Another dark smirk. “Just checking.” Much to the taller boy's relief, Vanitas walked back to where he'd been sitting earlier, to play with his backpack. It was a nice backpack, as far as backpacks went. No safety pins, no marks from pens, no rips or holes or punctures to be noted that weren't microscopic tears and such. It was bright green, which clashed horribly with Vanitas' ensemble and frankly surprised Demyx quite a bit.

That backpack was normal, of course. It looked normal, it sat normal, and thus it probably contained some very normal things. Things like homework and textbooks. There might have even been a few notebooks with excessive quantities of sketches in the margins! It was a happy thought. A normal thought. One that Demyx clung to for several minutes in hope that it would offset the horrible feeling he had about the shorter boy. But after a few minutes his object of attention noticed the blue-green eyes on him. Then, much to Demyx's horror, he removed a safety pin from his pant leg, pulled a dead mouse from his backpack, to proceed to dissect the mouse on the table with the safety pin.

“I see you've met Vanitas.” When Demyx's eyes lit upon Zexion, who had somehow managed to teleport behind him (an ability he was surprisingly accustomed to,) he tried not to weep in relief.

Demyx glanced back at Vanitas before whispering to the blue-haired boy, “So that's Vanitas?”

“That's what I said. Why do you ask?” Zexion frowned. “What did he tell you? He didn't try to sell you any drugs, did he?”

“I didn't sell him drugs!” the boy protested from his seat.

Demyx tried to shush his friend.

“What? He's going to hear us anyway. Might as well make him uncomfortable.” He announced the last line as loud as he could without shouting.

“Thanks for the consideration, dick wad.”

Zexion made a rude gesture. “Blow me.”

Vanitas made one back. “You wish.”

Demyx looked between them, confused. “Are you sure you want to, you know, risk his wrath?”

The shorter boy shrugged, his signing growing noticeably lazy – even to Demyx. “Wrath? Please – Vanitas is a sweetheart as long as he's not trying to sell you heroine.”

The taller boy's eyes widened.

“Heroine?!” he squeaked, completely missing the fact that someone had just called the school delinquent a 'sweetheart.'

Vanitas laughed. “It was good stuff, too!”

Taking hold of the blond's arm, Zexion steered them out of the room and into the hallway. “And we're walking,” he narrated. “Try not to listen to anything he says – it's all bullshit.”

Demyx tried not to jump when from the other room the boy shouted, “Hey, I resemble that remark!”

“It's best to ignore him. And don't worry; he's harmless.” The blond begged to differ, but didn't voice his opinion as he was being led out the school doors by the arm. “So what brings you to club so early? I thought you had basketball practice or something.”

“Swim practice,” Demyx corrected before yanking his arm out of the shorter boy's grip. “And I can follow you just fine on my own, thanks.”

“Whatever floats your boat, but seriously – what brings you here so early?”

Shrugging, the blond turned his eyes to the sidewalk. “Someone poured blue dye in the pool. The only reason I was there so long was so I could sing 'I'm Blue' at Riku with the rest of the guys.”

“Who's Riku?”

“Tall, pale guy with long silver hair. Hard to miss. He was the one who figured out the pool had been dyed.”

-Visual-Boy-

“Oral Herpes?”

Demyx was too busy staring at the boy's room to really pay attention to his shock. There were posters everywhere. Art, concerts, events, conventions, store ads – not an inch of space went uncovered. Even the ceiling had been decorated. Bumper stickers, art swatches, drawings, and album covers stared down at him. Demyx didn't have a clue as to what color the walls were painted.

“Yeah,” he confirmed after a bit. “Did you go to all of these.”

“Yes,” the shorter boy confirmed, standing and making his way over to a bookcase so tall it touched his ceiling. Around chest-height was a blue boom-box, which the slate-haired teen opened. Placing the CD that was inside lovingly into a case, he leaned down and perused the shelf below it, which had been filled to the brim with CDs. “Feeling for anything in particular?”

Demyx shrugged. “Got any Oasis?”

Trailing his fingers along the shelf, Zexion tugged free two CDs and held them up for inspection. “Definitely Maybe and Morning Glory – take your pick.” At the blond's shrug of indifference he turned and placed the first case back, then opened the second and placed it in the boom box. Switching it on, he waited for the CD to read, then pressed play. Soon, the quiet echo of the first grating guitar was filling the room. “I listen to music when I'm stressed,” he explained.

“Don't have to tell me,” Demyx replied, shrugging.

Zexion sighed. “You know you do that a lot, right?”

Fixing the boy with a puzzled look, the blond teen inquired, “Do what?” His host raised his shoulders in example. “Really?”

“Yeah – I've counted five shrugs since we arrived.” He paused. “So, how did you get Herpes?”

“Peace rally when I was five.” The blond confessed. “Some guy offered me a soda and boom – open sores a week later.”

In the background, Liam Gallagher sang, “You gotta roll with it. You gotta take your time. You gotta say what you say, don't let anybody get in your way.”

“So, now that I've come squeaky clean, it's your turn.”

Zexion raised his eyebrows in disbelief. “What makes you think I have secrets?”

Mulling over his answer, Demyx stalled for time by singing along with the song. “Don't ever stand aside, don't ever be denied...” Stopping halfway through the verse, he turned to the slate-haired boy in surprise. “Weren't you the one who said everyone has secrets?”

“I'm not everyone,” he replied flatly.

“Not according to the rest of the world.”

“In case you hadn't noticed, the rest of the world tends to leave me alone.”

“The kind of stuff they're saying could get you in trouble with the school.”

Heaving a sigh, Zexion fixed the taller boy with a look. “Fine. I'll bite. What are they saying?” His fingers flew with his speech, and Demyx began to wonder why he was signing.

Maybe it was a habit.

“First of all, that you're a slut.”

“I'm a virgin.”

A short silence followed the admission. “That was pretty readily offered.”

“Get over it. What else are they saying?”

He paused. “That have a tattoo of a naked clown on your stoma – hey!” Before Demyx could properly protest the boy's shirt was off and he was staring at a skin and bones body very obviously free of any tattoos.

“Satisfied?”

“Yeah. Um... Another says that you're on crack. That's why you're so skinny.”

Not even bothering with speech, he replied in sign he knew Demyx could understand. “False. What else?”

Shrugging, the blond idly announced, “You're gay,” before heaving a sign and turning his eyes to the ceiling. He was stuck in limbo for a bit, waiting, then asked, “What? No immediate refusal?”

“Why? It's true.”

Silence.

“Well, I guess I had that coming.”

“Get over it, sweetheart.”

The blond fought a grin. “Probably had that coming, too.”

After tugging his shirt back on, Zexion ran a hand through his hear, idle finger smoothing the strands into place. “If you're about to go on of those anti-homo rants I swear-”

“No, no,” the taller boy interrupted. “I'm not one of those. Don't worry about it.”

“Got any questions?”

There was a lull.

“What?”

“Questions – you know, about homosexuality. Vanitas sure had some.”

“Vanitas knows?”

Zexion rolled his eyes. “Vanitas knows everything. So, questions?”

“I...” Demyx paused. “Let me think about it.”

Raising an eyebrow, the slate-haired boy grinned. “What? So we're going to continue our association without regard to your social position?”

“It's just ASL club,” the taller boy replied. “What's the worst that could happen?”


	4. Visual Boy Part 1

In order for future installments to make sense, a brief interlude must be taken. A stroll through the park, if you will, in the life of Zexion. Literally.

At the tender age of nine Zexion had already established himself as a peculiar little boy. Shorter than most his age, he dyed his hair bright blue behind his mother's back. Three times he dyed it, and after the third dye job it started to look gray. Periwinkle, it was. He was also lactose intolerant, had serious allergic reactions to corn, peanuts, and gluten, and was potassium deficient. Naturally, all of his food was prepared from scratch. Also of note was his tendency to spend all his time indoors reading instead of playing with others.

But, most peculiar of all, from a very young age he had exhibited the ability to be interested in everything and nothing all at once. What he saw never managed to amuse him, and yet he always found himself amused by everything he saw. And while this may seem very similar to that “ADHD” thing everyone was talking about back then, he was not attention deficit. For, you see, the boy was naturally unimpressed with everything he saw once he learned how it worked.

In conclusion, nothing could amuse him and everything amused him. It is much like a child with fleeting attentions actually trying to be attention deficit – a devastating force that can bowl over any teacher worth their salt. So the boy developed a habit of collecting things – or people – who could hold his attention. First was Xion, second was Vanitas, third was Demyx, and fourth was Lexaeus.

Now, at the tender age of nine Zexion had taken a stroll through the neighborhood park and taken everything in. The trees, the flowers, the bushes, the sign proclaiming, 'Dogs must be leashed,' and the many contraptions – the adults called the culmination of them a “playground,” – intended for amusement. And he was bored. At one point he rustled through the bushes, looking for something interesting. And there was, in fact, something interesting: an old lighter and a half-squashed pack of cigarettes. These were both shoved into his backpack before he hid them beneath loose floorboard near his bed. They remained there until many years later, when he turned seventeen.

The boy would continue to raid these particular bushes for treasures until he was fourteen. Among his many findings were the following: a pack of cards (sans the ace of spades,) five bucks (which he blew on bubble gum,) two unopened condom foils, a pebble that looked like Micky Mouse, a plain white coffee mug, several dozen marbles, and an unopened bottle of Jack. These, along with a few other things, were his treasures.

And now that you have been suitably informed about Zexion the Strange and his sidekick, Loose Bedroom Floorboard, we may continue on with our tale of wonder and teenage drama.

-Visual-Boy-

Lesson Four: Visual Boy Part One

-Visual-Boy-

On the way home from Zexion's house, Demyx took a detour into downtown. Eventually he came to a small residential district. Passing by the corner store, he stepped up to a bright green house, complete with a bright, well-tended garden being tended by a woman wearing a sunhat.

Glancing up, she grinned. “Demyx!” she called, rising to her feet to greet him. Stripping off her gloves, the woman waited for him to cross through the gate before gathering him into a hug. “It's been a while. Are you going to stay long?”

Shaking his head, he lifted the woman off the ground for a moment, reveling in her squeak. “Nah,” he said when he'd placed her firmly on the ground, ignoring her stern look. “Just here to pick up some CDs I loaned him. Then I have to get home.”

“That's a shame. Oh and...” She trailed off. “He's in a weird mood, today. And he's got some strange boy with him. I think he's from Vancouver.”

He laughed, then gave her a mock salute. “Consider me warned, Mrs. A,” before making his way to the front door.

“Demyx!” Without warning, upon reaching the mudroom the boy was blindsided by a young girl. “Do you wanna play with me? Seifer's being mean.”

He laughed, kneeling to look his assailant in the eye. She was around the age of five with long, golden hair that cascaded to her waist and big blue eyes framed by long lashes and pale skin. “Hello, Alice. How was your day?”

Holding herself regally, she blushed. “It was fine. How was yours?”

“Hmm...” he began. “Eventful, one could say.”

“Eventful?” the girl asked, curious. “Is it something you would like to share?” It never ceased to amuse Demyx just how polite Alice was when you reminded her to be.

“Nah – you'd think it was boring.”

“Is that so?” She giggled, bit her lip, and shifted back and forth before bursting. “Now will you play with me?”

Demyx laughed. “Sorry – I'm only here for some CDs I loaned your brother.”

The girl huffed. “You're no fun.”

“I know,” he agreed, standing. Continuing his path to the stairs, he trailed lazy fingers along the safety rail until reaching the landing. A few feet later he stood before a door a large stick labeled as, “Seifer's Room. Enter at own risk.”

Usually when you walk into your best friend's room when he's hanging out with a guy from a rival school you'd expect the usual junk to be occurring. Video games, rock-paper-scissors tournaments, guy talk (about breasts,) and the usual splurge about the “awesome explosions in that one movie.” And with good reason – there is nothing the teenage male brain has capacity for at that age. Imagination is in short supply when porn can be procured, unless it is being exercised to retrieve said porn. That is were it hits a dead end, sadly.

Thus, when Demyx walked into Seifer's bedroom on that particular day he was met with a sight he could not have prepared for.

Some bottle-dirty-blond against the wall, his pants pooling at his ankles, Seifer on his knees – you can imagine the rest. Feel free. It wasn't even one of those, “It's totally not what it sounds/looks like,” moments. And when Seifer stood the stranger cursed before the blond cut him off with an obscene kiss, reaching his hand down.

Demyx quietly retreated from the room, easing the door closed behind him.

Standing outside the door was nerve wracking. He didn't do anything special – just stood there doing nothing. Well, he was doing something, if you want to be specific; he was waiting for the noises to stop.

Soon enough there was a gasp, then a minute later a sigh. Some shuffling soon followed, and after a bit two zippers sounded.

The blond knocked.

“I thought I told you not to bug us, !” Seifer called through the door.

“It's me,” Demyx called back. After a moment's hesitation, he asked, “Who's us? You got a girl in there?” The door was wrenched open wide, and our Hero was assaulted by the smell of sex.

“Demyx!” his friend greeted enthusiastically, eyes twinkling with genuine surprise and a bit of something unrecognizable. For a split second the shorter blond tried to figure out just what it was. Satisfaction? Pride? Joy? Nothing quite fit. “My man! What brings you around?”

Shrugging, the teen allowed his eyes to flick toward the shorter boy, who looked reasonably ruffled. “Just wanted to see if you were done with those CDs I loaned you.”

Blond eyebrows shot to the ceiling. “Oh – right.” Seifer snapped, literally, with his fingers and everything, then turned on his heel and began to sort through a large pile of compact discs balanced precariously on top of a stereo. After a good deal of rustling, he retrieved three cases. “Here you go,” he enthusiastically announced, handing them off to Demyx.

Unable to resist, after receiving the discs the boy announced, “Smells like sex and pot. What happened?”

Seifer grinned. “A little brunette from Science happened, that's what.”

How much did Demyx want to bet that Seifer was lying? A lot.

“So who's this?” the taller boy asked, turning to the stranger. “I don't think I've seen him at school before. He new?”

“Oh – right,” Seifer repeated. Demyx thought on the repetition for a moment, mulling over the choice in his head. Either Seifer was more affected than he thought or he was nervous. But there was no telling; either would have fit the situation. “Demyx, this is Hayner. He's from Vancouver – goes to Hudson's Bay.”

Forcing a grin, the blond held out a hand. “Nice to meet you.”

“Same here,” the boy replied, taking his hand in a firm grip before dropping it.

Stepping back to the door, Demyx shrugged. “Well, I gotta get going home.”

“Come back again some time,” Seifer offered.

“I will,” the taller boy promised, stepping out of the room with a masked sigh of relief. Pausing just outside the door, he stuck his head in the crack and called, “Hey, Seifer.”

“Yeah?”

“Crack a window, would ya?”

The other boy laughed. “Yeah, yeah.” Hayner looked like he was about to pass out.

Demyx had some thinking to do

-Visual-Boy-

Tuesday dawned much the same way Monday did, as did Wednesday and Thursday. When Friday did arrive, along with Demyx's day off from swim practice, he attended ASL club like the previous week. There he sat in the corner, pouring over the book Xion had loaned him.

That's when Vanitas approached him. Idly he noted how the shorter boy had dyed his hair over the weekend. It was black – blacker than Xion's hair. Blacker than his fingernails. Blacker than the deepest, darkest part of Demyx's soul that tried desperately not to show just how terrified it was, because that little part of him was under the impression that Vanitas could smell fear.

“Having any trouble?” the boy signed after getting his attention. To say Demyx was shocked by the boy's offer is an understatement. To say he was blindsided is a bit more appropriate.

“A little,” he admitted.

Then the unthinkable happened.

Vanitas, known drug dealer and apparent Bad-ass from Britain, helped poor, popular little Demyx with verbs.

-Visual-Boy-

Later, in a corner store near Demyx's house, the blond asked Zexion about the raven-haired boy.

“Everyone in the ASL club has a secret,” the shorter teen informed him. “I know yours, and you know mine. Vanitas' is that he's a sweetheart.”

“Yeah, but he's... Vanitas.”

“His reputation precedes him. He scares people on purpose; that way they stay away from him.” Snatching a bag of Cheetos from a shelf, the boy made his way to the drink aisle. “The truth is that he's a total softie – granted, a softie who needs to get his priorities in order, but a softie nonetheless. Back in England he was pretty popular with the girls.”

“Uh – how?”

Rolling his eyes, the periwinkle-haired boy perused their Gatorade supply. “Hello? Earth to Demyx – you've seen him, right? Perfect height, perfect body, perfect hair, perfect face? Not to mention he's smart, athletic, and multilingual. If he batted for my team I'd be all over that. And don't get me started on his eyes.”

“His eyes?” the blond gaped in disbelief. He fought the urge to say something along the lines of the fact that Zexion was gay, but that didn't mean he had to be a girl.

“Liquid blue pools of sex,” he stated simply. Allowing his gaze to linger on the orange bottles, Zexion adjusted the hem of his shirt. “They say this stuff changes the color of your sweat. Think that's true?”

“Probably not,” the blond replied, hiding his budding fear for the dignity of the male half of the species. “Would be cool if it did, though.”

Reaching for the cooler handle, the shorter boy pulled it open and grabbed the bottle he'd been eying. “Well, if I did sweat in technicolor I'd want it to be orange.”

Demyx laughed. “Any reason why?”

“I guess you could say I have a thing for gingers.”

The blond scoffed. “Is everything about sex with you?”

“Not everything. You just have a poor choice in topics.”

“Yeah, because Gatorade is totally sexy.” He paused. “Wait a second – you have a crush on Lexaeus?”

Zexion squeaked. “What? When did I say that?”

“You didn't, but he's the only Ginger at our school.”

“Well, you're wrong. I don't have a crush on him.”

A bell tinkled, signaling that someone had entered the corner store. Before Demyx knew what was going on Zexion had ducked behind a display that was, not so surprisingly, taller than him. “I'm not here,” he signed.

Glancing to the door, Demyx wasn't surprised to see Lexaeus. Turning to the boy with a satisfied grin, he fought the urge to laugh. “You can't avoid him forever, you know,” he informed the shorter boy. “He lives next door.” Zexion visibly twitched. Taking hold of the periwinkle-haired boy's wrist, he tugged him from behind the display before letting go and turning to face the newcomer, who had turned into their aisle. “Hey, Lexaeus,” he greeted.

The Ginger seemed surprised that he was there. “Demyx,” he replied courteously, winded. Sweat dripped down the sides of his face and stained his shirt, which clung to his torso with a mission. And that mission was to torture Zexion. “What's up?”

“Zexion's crashing at my place. You?”

“Jogging,” he replied tersely. Then, much to his surprise, he greeted his companion. “Hi, Zexion.”

Cautiously, as if moving too quickly would make his hand shatter, the shorter boy raised a few fingers in tiny wave. Demyx took in this exchange as if it had happened in slow motion before making the connection. “You two know each other?”

“Middle school,” Zexion supplied. The blond was vaguely aware that the boy wasn't signing his words for once. “We had the same classes two years in a row.”

Demyx vaguely remembered Middle School as the institution he'd attended four years prior. In his experience it belonged in the same category as Vegas and Truth or Dare. He was quite surprised that anyone would have brought it up. And willingly at that. “Oh...” he managed after a bit, looking between the two before reaching into the fridge to grab a Pepsi. If he didn't know Zexion had a crush on the taller boy he would have thought him to be indifferent.

Little did he know blue-eyed shorty was downright terrified.

“Why don't you come by later? After your jog, that is,” Demyx suggested, ignoring the venomous look Zexion sent him. “We don't know what we're doing, yet.”

“I might,” the taller boy replied, turning to the cooled drinks before withdrawing an orange Gatorade.

Demyx threw Zexion a look over his shoulder, making sure to raise his eyebrows suggestively. He received a twinge and a miniscule blush for his efforts. “Liar,” he signed. “You totally like him.” This earned him a middle finger, which was dropped the moment Lexaeus began to turn.

The teen paused. “Did I miss something?”

“Don't worry about it,” Zexion replied, turning on his heel and making his way to the cashier.

“Did you find everything okay?” the man asked in heavily accented English.

Demyx grinned. “Existentialists Rainbow Republicans over the Nile River.”

“Very good,” the cashier replied, ringing everything up and taking the blond's five dollar bill. “Have a good day.” He handed over a dollar and four pennies and out they went, leaving Lexaeus at the counter.

“What the fuck was that?”

“The guy only knows four sentences in English. 'Did you find everything okay,' 'Very good,' 'Have a good day,' and 'Get the fuck out of my store before I shoot your face off.' You can say anything you want to the guy and he won't even react.”

“Not that – the part where you invited Lexaeus over!”

The blond shrugged. “Don't you like him?”

“What if I invited Xion over while you were at my place? Would you be all daisies and sunshine?”

“Honestly? I'd be pretty thrilled.”

-Visual-Boy-

“What's that smell?” Zexion asked, noticeably put-off by the scent of urine and dead mice that permeated the entryway.

Demyx shrugged. “That's just Bob. Don't worry about him,” he said, pointing to a Guinea Pig that was shivering in the corner much in the way that Guinea Pigs do. Although, unlike most Guinea Pigs, he was surrounded by a mound of mouse corpses.

See here, at some point Bob had ingested some fried chicken and had never been the same again. Started hunting mice, even, much to the surprise of the two vegans he lived with. He was a Guinea with a taste for flesh, after all. Nothing, aside from a Vegetarian Bald Eagle, could have upset the natural order any further.

Moving right along, Bob was black and white with little brown spots decorating his legs. As far as Guinea Pigs went he was pretty ugly. But he'd be uglier three days later when he escaped from the house and got himself cleaved in two by a car. And you won't guess who was driving – a Veterinarian. See, this particular Vet wasn't very fond of Guinea Pigs. However, that isn't why he ran over little Bob. He ran over little Bob because he had no idea little Bob was there. That's because Bob was a Guinea pig, and Guinea Pigs are hard to see when you're driving. Simple as that.

-Visual-Boy-

“I'm only saying you should stay away from her. Xion has her reasons for not dating.”

Demyx scoffed. “Like what? I saw the chastity ring, by the way. It's not like I plan to sleep with her. Just, you know, ask her out. Spend time with her.”

“She'll tell you if she trusts you,” the boy replied, maneuvering over to Demyx's music collection. “Hey, can I borrow this NIN CD?”

“Go ahead, and what do you mean if she trusts me?”

“Everyone has secrets,” Zexion replied, stuffing the CD into his bag. “Xion is no exception.”

“Right, right. Got it. Now what's the problem with inviting Lexaeus over?”

The shorter boy paused in his movements for a moment before turning to his host. “Okay, I'll try to keep this simple. Imagine you've liked someone for five years.” Demyx blinked at this. “Now put them on the opposite side of the popular spectrum as yourself.” He paused, seemingly for dramatics. “Now have them interested in the gender that you aren't. Would you want to spend time with them knowing you can't put a clamp on your sexuality?”

“So...” Demyx trailed off. “Do you want me to reverse-invite him or something?”

“No – if he comes over I'll just put a lid on it for now. You didn't know. Just try to avoid doing this in the future, okay? And if it does I get to call you Pumpkin.”

The blond laughed. “Deal. Now – bed or floor?”

“Excuse me?”

“Standard sleepover procedure. Do you want to sleep on the bed or the floor?”

Blinking like a doe in headlights, the younger boy stared at him in surprise. “Bed?”

“Good man,” the blond joked. “You know, I think this could be the start of a very beautiful friendship.”

In the corner, Life looked on and laughed.


	5. Visual Boy Part 2

Disclaimer: I do not own Kingdom Hearts. The plot for this piece of fiction is a cross between my own work and a true story. The characters used are property of SquareEnix and Disney. The locations are very real places.

WARNINGS: Mild profanity, drug references, teen pregnancy, STDs, hard drug references, mild references to stoner culture, trespassing, teen sexuality, under-age sex, breaking and entering, theft, the disregard of several Constitutional Amendments, under-age drinking, abusive relationships, teen violence, needles, character death, under-age smoking, heterosexual relationships, homosexual relationships, and implied statutory rape.

-Visual-Boy-

There were many things about Lexaeus that people did not know about. Granted, this was mainly due to the fact that the boy was incredibly quiet, and usually the only things one could get out of him were short, two to three worded sentences that were increasingly brief. In defense of the tall boy, not many people were worth talking to in High School. When he did open his mouth what came out was usually aimed at Demyx or Kairi. Very rarely, he would speak to Seifer.

One thing in particular that people did not know what that he collected the tops of acorns. But only the doubles. A second odd trait (for someone of his build, at least) was that he enjoyed sweets. A lot. Third, he had a bong hidden beneath his mattress, and he and Seifer would get high on occasion. Once or twice, in the throes of marijuana, they made out.

For obvious reasons, this was not spoken of.

-Visual-Boy-

Lesson Five: Visual Boy Part Two

-Visual-Boy-

Zexion and Demyx, the pair that would forever be a pair, did not learn very much in High School that had to do with actual school. No, most of what they learned would actually be useful in the coming years of Bachelor-dome. Things like housekeeping and waffle-making. But mostly they learned how to cook instant ramen, the difference between panties and a thong, and that Old Maid is very difficult to play with three Maids.

“I call bullshit!”

“We're not playing bullshit.”

“I'm still calling bullshit!”

Zexion had pulled a deck of cards from his backpack. A deck they had discovered to be missing the Ace of Spades. And thus after a few confusing rounds of War the two had settled down to play a cross between Old Maid and Go Fish; the third ace being the Maid. On his first draw of seven cards Zexion immediately threw down three pairs and proceeded to ask for a number Demyx did, indeed, have. He repeated this with his next hand.

Demyx was not happy about this.

“Bullshit!”

The blue-haired boy flinched. “Keep it down!”

Rolling his eyes, the blond scoffed. “Why? Mom's not home.”

“And the neighbors?”

“Like they can hear us?”

They finished the round with a grin and more cursing.

Demyx paused amidst his profanity. “Speaking of fuck-”

“You did not just say that.”

The blond laughed. “Yeah, I did. Anyway, I won't be able to make it to ASL for a while.” Reshuffling the deck, he prepared for another round as his friend looked on is surprise.

“How come?”

He shrugged. “Coach says our averages have slipped too much, so we'll be meeting on Fridays, too.”

“Can't you just skip?”

“I've got a scholarship to think of.” He paused. “Off topic: I wonder when Lexaeus is gonna get here,” the boy wondered aloud, glancing out the window. Beyond it was a garden, which almost seemed to be breathing in the twilight.

Zexion shrugged. “He only said 'maybe.' It's not like he promised to drop by.”

“You don't know Lexaeus,” the blond replied. “He'll come.” After these words, a shadow cut through the light from the window, and two small raps were heard. “Speak of the devil,” Demyx joked, turning to see their guest. Lexaeus stood outside, holding up a small bag of tangerines.

“Doesn't he know how to use the door?”

Rising to his feet, the blond shrugged and replied, “Yeah, but it's faster this way.”

“Stop shrugging.”

“Right.” Throwing the window open, the taller teen stepped aside for their guest to enter. “Nice of you to come.”

“Had to put Grandma to bed,” the boy informed him, lifting his feet through the frame and angling his shoulders so he could settle into the room. Then, seeing Zexion in the room, he added, “Sorry I'm here so late.”

Noticing this, Demyx hid a grin. “We're playing Old Fish. Wanna join? Zexion's kicking my ass.”

Lexaeus glanced from one to the other, as if weighing the pros and cons of joining in. Then, with a minute quirk of the lips, he settled beside the periwinkle-haired teen. “Sounds like fun.”

The two proceeded to gang up on Demyx, and the blond didn't get a single pair.

“So, you coming to club next week or what?” Zexion eventually commented. At this Lexaeus started, glancing between the two in confusion.

“I don't know,” Demyx admitted, shrugging.

“Stop that.”

“Right – sorry.” Looking thoroughly scolded, the blond turned his eyes to his cards. “They've been talking about making Fridays mandatory until the team average improves.”

Zexion, having been in the middle of reaching for Lexaeus' cards – as they had reverted to regular Old Maid at the blond's complaints – paused in his motion. “So we won't be seeing you for a while, then.”

“Maybe, maybe not. Is that a problem?”

“Yeah – we have to have five regular members by December or we'll be cut.”

“What club is it?” Lexaeus' voice caught the two off guard, and they turned to look at the ginger in surprise.

“It's a second language thing. And no offense,” the periwinkle-haired boy began, licking his lips when his mouth went dry, “but you're a bit too popular to be a member.”

The taller boy shrugged. “Demyx is more popular than I am.”

“No, he's not,” he replied. “He's on the swim team – you're the best lineman on the football team, despite being a junior. It doesn't compare.”

“And because you don't talk much you don't ruin the image,” Demyx chimed in, shrugging.

“Stop shrugging.”

“Right.”

“My point is,” Zexion continued, running a nervous hand through his hair, “that Demyx sort of... fits in. With our group, that is.” There was a short pause.

“Is this about his Herpes?” Zexion choked, and Demyx's eyes widened until they resembled saucers. “What?”

“Who else knows?” the blond demanded, rounding on the taller boy with a fierce look. “Kairi? Seifer?”

Turning his gaze to the floor, the ginger shrugged. “No one. I only know because I saw your medicine. You left it out on the bathroom counter last year.”

Burying his face in his hands, Demyx groaned. “Fuck...” Much to the blond's relief, someone chose that moment to knock on the front door. He rose to answer it, leaving the two alone.

Zexion made a point to look everywhere but at Lexaeus.

It wasn't long before Demyx came back, bringing news that Lexaeus' parents wanted him home. They said their goodbyes, parted ways, and continued on as they would have if they had not met in the convenience store.

-Visual-Boy-

True to his word, Demyx attended Swim practice instead of ASL club on the following Friday. Then the next. And then the next. A month passed without much ceremony, and it wasn't until November 22nd – a Wednesday – that Demyx and Zexion finally came into contact once more. But it wasn't in ASL club. No – Demyx decided to forgo his usual lunch pattern of attending the popular crowd with his homemade (noticeably vegan) lunch to joining the cluster of social rejects at the forgotten table by the busted window. (He was pretty sure Vanitas was the one who smashed it, if only for the reputation booster.)

“What the hell are you doing?” Zexion signed, looking around apprehensively. For some reason he expected a group of football players to appear out of no where and jump them. (He did not voice this fear.)

“Joining you for lunch. What the hell does it look like?” Demyx replied after setting his bagged lunch down and taking a seat beside Vanitas and across from Zexion. Xion sat quietly, diagonal from him, watching their budding conversation carefully. “It's a free country, isn't it?”

“That it is,” Vanitas chimed in, but was properly ignored.

“You're only going to catch shit from your friends.”

“Let them stew in their misery – I miss you guys. Yes, even you, Vanitas.” Off to the side, the raven-haired boy clenched his hand and mouthed, “Score!”

Zexion huffed. “It's a recipe for disaster. When you had laryngitis, sure. After school on Fridays? No one knows. Cafeteria at lunch?” He scoffed, motioning toward Demyx's usual table, where Kairi and Seifer were throwing them curious looks. “It's only a matter of time before something happens or someone makes a comment.”

“If I stop hanging out with the others I'll fall off the map, like you,” Demyx replied. “That would be a good thing for me.”

“You can't just fall off the map, Demyx. It...” He paused. “You just can't.”

Vanitas, seeing an opening, cut in. “What he means is that hanging with us won't make you fall off the map – you are the map.”

“That's it,” the periwinkle-haired boy agreed. “The attention follows you, not the group. That's what makes you popular.”

“So if I get to know you guys the school will, too?”

“No,” Xion denied from beside Zexion, surprising the others by contributing. “Popularity doesn't just rub off on the people around you. If it did then there would be no 'In' crowd. It would just be a crowd. And that, Demyx, is what we call 'unpopularity.'”

“That was terribly insightful,” Vanitas commented, visibly impressed.

She grinned at the compliment, obviously flattered, but still managed to play it cool with a casual shake of the head. “Whatever. My point is that popularity is earned, and then kept. You can't just fall off the map, because that requires for the world to stop caring. But you forget that popularity means that everyone wants to be just like you. If you do something different they will copy you, and it will make you more popular until you have done it over and over again and proven yourself to be just like them. Flawed, young, and capable of mistakes. And God help you if they think you're anything less.

“Did you read that somewhere?” Vanitas inquired.

Shrugging the girl replied, “No – just something I picked up at my last school.”

“So I'm stuck with this,” Demyx summed up. He fought the urge to ask if Xion's secret had anything to do with her previous High School. “I'm never going to stop being popular.”

“'Popular' is a fluid and fickle concept. So is the world as we know it. Considering the consistency of modern day life – especially here in Portland – anything is possible. You could be dead tomorrow. So could the 'In' crowd, Zexion, or the entire population of Oregon.”

“Is that a hint that I should move to Vancouver or something?” Vanitas mused sarcastically.

“No. My point is that given enough time, and social leverage, you could be average, unpopular, or even fall completely off the map like we did. But just hanging around with the 'Out' crowd won't be enough. Life isn't like some TV show; the popular kids aren't super-attractive or snobby. Sure, they may gossip a lot, but from all angles they are perfectly normal, sweet, mildly-attractive individuals who excel at life naturally and are blessed with a good deal of social skills. You happen to have all of these traits, which will make unpopularity difficult.” She paused. “On that note, why is Seifer popular?” This question was aimed directly at the blond.

Throughout the girl's monologue, Demyx tried his hardest to keep up with what she was signing, though he only managed to catch about half of her words. But having understood a great deal of it, he felt confident in his response. “Because he's the quarterback of the football team.”

Xion groaned. “One day America won't revolve around football, and intelligence will be prized above all else.”

“Is that a premonition or a curse?” Zexion joked.

“Both. Now eat your carrots before the bell rings – we got five minutes.”

-Visual-Boy-

The locker rooms bustled with noise as teens filed in after school, preparing for their individual sports. Demyx was half dressed down when someone behind him spoke.

“What the hell was that, Dem?”

Not quite sure what was going on, especially since someone had just called him “Dem,” the blond turned. He found himself face to face with none other than Seifer, who looked to be a cross between disappointed, shocked, surprised, and proud.

“What the hell was what?”

“At lunch – you were hanging out with those finger-wiggling kids. Spill. You trying to get in with the chick or something?” He whistled. “If you are, I wouldn't blame you. She really is smokin'. I mean, the combat boots are kinda weird, but one look at those hips and you know she'd be so hot in bed.”

“Hardly,” the blond laughed. “She doesn't date. And didn't you see her chastity ring?”

The shorter boy threw his head back and let loose a bark of a laugh before looking him straight in the eye. Demyx suddenly felt as if he was pinned by the gaze; not allowed – or able – to move. “Right. I can tell an intentional swagger from an unconscious twitch of satisfaction; she isn't a virgin, and she's been getting laid recently. That ring means nothing. Probably getting it from that guy – what's his name? Vanitas?”

Suddenly feeling uneasy, the blond fought down the urge to think on it. Unbidden, the thoughts rose. Vanitas was attractive; so was Xion. And if she was getting any it was probably from him. And since they, obviously, weren't going steady he might actually have a chance.

Forcing them down, he reminded himself, again, that she was off limits. Not to mention that he didn't know anything about her.

“They're not,” he stated simply, forcing himself to stare his friend straight in the eye.

The shorter blond shrugged. “Fine. Be that way.”

Demyx forced a scoff, feeling the need to be expressive. “Be what way?”

“Defensive,” the other boy replied. “You know, you've been kinda different for the last month. The others didn't want to say anything, but that doesn't change the fact that you've been weird.”

Turning back to his locker, the taller blond reached for his Speedo, then began to pull it on. “Weird how? Be specific – this is Portland for God's sake.”

“Distant weird. Not-quite-here weird.” There was a sigh. “You haven't been coming over lately, either. You're my best friend, dude – and this is our senior year. We should be tighter than ever, but every time I turn around you're not there.”

Demyx glanced around the room, meeting the eyes of curious classmates before they turned away. “This isn't the place for that kind of chat,” he informed the scarred boy, nodding toward the other students. “Let's talk later.”

“That's the thing – there is no later with you anymore. And I'm starting to think I did something to drive you away.”

They went quiet for a moment before Demyx admitted, “You're right.” It's what you didn't do, he thought to himself. It's what I can't do. “Why don't we hang out this Saturday?”

Seifer screwed up his eyebrows. “Thanksgiving break starts after practice, numbskull.”

He blinked. “Oh – right.”

“How about tonight?”

Demyx shrugged. “Why not?” Safely storing his DARE pin in his backpack, the teen shut his locker and turned toward the door to the pool as Seifer turned to the gymnasium. “See you after practice,” he called.

“It's a date!” the other boy laughed.

Not much later, as he chatted with a teammate, Riku, it occurred to Demyx that Seifer might actually think it was just that.

He tried not to feel too terrible about it.

-Visual-Boy-

It was normal for Demyx to keep swimming even after everyone had gone home. Unlike the rest of them, he had a scholarship to uphold. So when practice ended it didn't occur to him to pack up with the rest of his teammates and leave. About half an hour after everyone had left the water moved, and he shot up to look for the source of the disturbance. Seifer rising from the water and shaking it from his hair was not what he expected.

The shorter blond shrugged when he was met with the raise of an eyebrow. “What? You were taking too long. Figured I'd join you.”

Demyx rolled his eyes, having long since grown accustomed to his friend's spontaneity. “If you say so,” he drawled. “You do realize that now we're both going to have to dry off, right?”

“Yeah, but there was no telling how long you would have taken in here.”

“Sorry for making you wait.” Running a hand through his hair, the taller boy heaved a sigh. “I always stay after. It's a routine, now.”

“Yeah, I know, College boy. Best friends, remember?”

Best friends know everything about each other, Demyx accused the other teen mentally. Best friends tell each other if they bat for the other team, or if they have Herpes.

The two climbed out of the pool, then toweled off in the locker room. Much to Demyx's horror, Seifer didn't attempt to salvage his soaked boxers and instead went commando, shoving his underwear into the plastic bag with the taller blond's Speedo. In an attempt to keep himself moderately sane, he handed the boy his belt.

“What? Don't want anyone else to see my ass?” the blond joked.

“No, stupid. I don't want to see your ass. Keep it to yourself,” Demyx replied, shrugging off the comment bitterly. He packed his things quickly, finding himself growing shorter with the boy as the silence stretched. Much to his relief, Seifer did don his belt, and they were in the parking lot before long, making their way to the other boy's car.

The blond remained in the same mood for the rest of the evening, though he wasn't nearly as clipped with Seifer's mother and Alice, or with his own mom when he called her to tell her he was staying over. Later on Seifer insisted that they play video games, much to the boy's relief. Video games did not require speech.

It was around one in the morning, when the two had settled down to sleep, that it occurred to Demyx that he was being unfair. Seifer wasn't the only one hiding anything. But, then, Demyx couldn't quite trust him with his secret. The boy wasn't known for keeping tight lips.

Glancing over to the bed Seifer had formed out of bean bag chairs, the blond traced the line of his friend's jaw in the moonlight. “You can tell me, you know,” he whispered, not quite sure if the other boy heard him.

Seifer's eyes eased open at this, and he turned to face Demyx. “Tell you what?”

“Your secret,” he replied, not quite surprised that his friend had been awake. “I know you've been keeping it to yourself. I just want you to know that you can trust me.”

“What more is there to say? You already know everything about me.” The words were flat, but the moonlight betrayed the fear in his eyes. That was all it took for Demyx's anger to evaporate.

“No matter what it is, just know that I'm safe territory.”

Seifer turned to face the wall, then, breaking eye contact. “No, you're not,” he mumbled. “You think you are, but you're not.” Then, louder, “Night, Demyx.”

Not bothering to hide the disappointment in his tone, the blond replied, “Good night.”

-Visual-Boy-

"Hey, Mom," Demyx called, standing in the entryway and staring at the place Bob usually claimed as his shakey throne. It was empty, courtesy of one Veteranarian who didn't see a gerbil crossing the road. "Have you seen Bob?"

There was a shuffle of movement before his mother replied. "Can't say I have, sweetie," she replied, voice muffled. "Do you think he got outside?"

It was this line of logic that made Demyx open the door at look out. There, on the street, was Bob. Recently splattered across the pavement. Closing the door, the blond sighed. "Found him," he groaned loudly. Across the house, his mother stilled at the tone before getting up and joining him at the door. "He never stood a chance."

"You okay, hun'?" she asked, throwing her arm around her son and pulling him close.

"Yeah," the boy replied, leaning into his mother's embrace. "Just a bit surprised is all."

She grinned. "How about this – I'll get the shovel, and you choose what part of the garden he'll go in."

His mouth twitched upward. "I'd like that."

Fifteen minutes later, after scraping the last of Bob's intestines from the road, his mother came around the house to where Demyx stood in front of an old, dying Hydrangea that never quite managed to kick the bucket. "Any reason in particular you chose this spot?" she asked.

The boy shrugged. "I figured it could use the fertilizer." Then they put Bob on the ground, dug a hole, picked Bob up again, put him in the hole, and kicked the dirt over his body. A short set of words later, in which they bemoaned the loss of his shakey standing and penchant for eating mice, the two walked away from the gravesite.

"How about we get another Gerbil?" Wisteria suggested.

"Guinea Pig, Mom," Demyx corrected. "And I think I've had enough of rodents. How about a cat?"

"That wouldn't be very vegan of us."

"Bob ate mice, Mom," he retorted. "How was that Vegan of us?"

And then she smiled. She smiled that little smile that let him know that she was his mother and she knew all. The smile told him they would, in fact, be getting a cat. And that cat would be just as weird as Bob, if not weirder, and even after adopting said cat they would proceed to be just as Vegan as they had ever been.

Demyx smiled back, wondering if he would ever be able to portray so much with a look. Maybe it was a parent thing.

Or maybe it was a love thing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> DARE – DARE is a “don't smoke” thing that I remember going around to schools as a kid. I actually still have my pin somewhere around here...


	6. The Merging of Clans

There's something fantastically freeing about typing quickly. Some sort of importance comes over you, and your fingers are flying across the keyboard with increasing speed. Suddenly the world is your oyster. The entire library looks at you with awe. You are important. You are someone important. By extension you are a person worthy of notice.

Then your cat sits on your hands and all of a sudden you realize you're not in the library. You're home alone typing a computer virus as quickly as you possibly can where no one can see you with a three-foot feline resting on your wrists, successfully obscuring half the screen. The floppy-writer isn't working, the ants you accidentally tracked into the house the week before have gotten into your soda, and there's nothing to eat except lactose-free fudge ice-cream.

Least to say, life doesn't usually happen the way one wishes it to. Especially for Kairi. Her popularity had been an accident, though it was a happy one. Her nerdy habits could be overlooked completely since she didn't brag about them and she didn't have to try to get high grades. After her first battle with puberty, and the subsequent flood of blouses, short skirts, and makeup, people flocked to her naturally. But despite the fact that she was a “Wow” with the guys, not many bothered asking her out. She was too casual to date, it seemed. Too much like the guys.

She often imagined what it would be like if she and Demyx were to date. This was safe ground, considering the guy never dated anyone. Oddly enough, he never seemed to show any interest in courting anyone. Or in girls, period. Kairi was glad for this. And she was also more than happy just being friends. But like any girl she was also very disappointed that he seemed to be completely oblivious to the big, fat, ugly crush she had on him.

Her boyfriends, whenever she had one, didn't like this. And her girlfriends didn't like how she was competition. (Demyx wasn't popular for nothing.) Least to say, hanging out beyond the school grounds never appealed to her much. So there she was on many a Saturday typing up a computer virus; a hobby she had picked up in her free time. It was lonely, yes, but she was doing something.

And, at the very least, no one knew about the little pill she would pop every morning.

-Visual-Boy-

Lesson Six: The Merging of Clans

-Visual-Boy-

In a recurring decision, resembling a pattern that pleased the specter in the corner, Demyx did not attend his usual table for lunch on the fourth of December. Instead, he settled down beside Vanitas with a grin. “What's up?” he signed to the boy.

He shrugged. “Not much.” When the blond stared at him in surprise, he rolled his eyes. “What? You can't expect me to talk in Sign Language all the time. That'd be ridiculous.”

It was strange, hearing Vanitas speak after several months of silence. “Yeah – I guess you're right,” Demyx admitted as Zexion settled in across from them. “It's just weird, is all.”

“That happens when you start getting fluent,” the smaller boy commented, staring down at the jam and honey rice ball his mother had packed him with disdain.

Settling in beside him, Xion giggled. “I see we're talking today. Ooh – that looks good!” The latter half was aimed at the aforementioned rice ball.

“Right.” Then, under his breath, he groaned, “I hate being allergic to peanuts.”

Looking up from his bagged lunch in surprise, Demyx fought a grin. “You're allergic, too?” he asked, almost in disbelief.

“Along with one tenth of the rest of the world,” the periwinkle-haired boy added dryly. “It's a very common allergy.”

“Speaking of allergies...” The blond as he turned to face the others. “What are you guys allergic to?”

“Pollen,” Vanitas supplied.

“Lactose and sunscreen,” Xion announced, earning her three confused expressions. “What?”

“Well, now we know why your ass is so pale,” Vanitas joked, earning himself a playful slap on the arm. “What? I'm just telling it like it is!”

She snorted, then signed, “Whatever. Down to business. We need one more member for ASL club not to be cut. Any ideas?”

“None,” Zexion pitched.

“They don't have to speak sign language,” the girl supplied. “It would help, but as President I've decided to make a sacrifice of time in order to help them learn if they want to. We just need someone open-minded; preferably one who keeps their own company.”

“In case you didn't notice, I don't know anyone,” Vanitas signed slowly from his seat closest to the window. All eyes turned to Demyx as his fingers twitched, then moved.

“How about Lexaeus?” It didn't escape the blond that Zexion jumped at the mention.

Xion seemed to think this over. “I don't see why not,” she eventually signed, amusement plain on her face. “Bring him over when you can. But check if he can read sign language, first.”

It wasn't until ten minutes later, when they had switch topics a good three or four times, that Demyx realized they were being watched. Subtly turning his head, he tried not to wince under Kairi's desperate gaze. She was seated alone at the usual table surrounded by a gaggle of girls and Seifer. (It appeared that Lexaeus was absent.) With no buffer, she had been left to fend for herself as the boy flirted shamelessly with anything with legs, and Demyx could only guess at what they were talking about.

“Hey, guys,” he mouthed quietly, just barely allowing himself to be heard over the cafeteria's ruckus. “Would you mind if Kairi joined us for lunch?” Not for the first time, the blond was on the receiving end of three befuddled teenagers.

“Umm... Why?” Zexion asked, taken aback.

“Yeah, why?” At Vanitas' chipping in, almost desperate to agree, the blond suddenly realized that the teen was just a touch socially stunted. (Or he just didn't like Kairi.)

“Because she's my friend, and while I'm over here I can't buffer for her.”

Zexion's eyebrows rose. “Then why don't you just go over there?”

“You seem to under the impression that I want to sit with Kairi as my best friend hits on everything that moves. Thanks, but that's Lexaeus' job.” Demyx would admit heartily that the little flush that overtook the shortest boy's features at the name, tinging his ears a bright red, prompted a swell of malicious satisfaction.

Both of the others turned to Xion, as if waiting for her to say something. And when she did there was no arguing with her. “There's no reason why she can't. It's a free country.”

That was all the permission he needed.

Pushing himself up from the table, the blond quickly made his way to Kairi's table, making sure not to collide with anyone. When he made it there he picked up her tray, shouldered her backpack, and motioned for her to follow, much to the girl's confusion. Smartly, she didn't comment just then; they'd managed to retreat without drawing the attention of one Seifer Almasy and wanted to keep it that way.

In the corner, Life watched the exchange with curiosity, counting the minutes of its fingers like a countdown.

Eventually, after they had both taken seats at the table by the busted window, she spoke.

“Hi.” It came out as an uneasy whisper, and the other three visibly fought chuckles at her look of helplessness. The girl scowled at this. “I didn't know my greetings had a sense of humor.” Taking the seat furthest from the others with a huff, she attempted not to make eye contact.

Xion, being the class act she was, rose and extended a hand. “It's nice to meet you, Kairi,” she greeted. “My name's Xion.”

The redhead looked up, meeting the girl's eyes hesitantly, and promptly froze.

If it weren't for the three-hundred other people in the cafeteria, the drop of a pin could have been heard.

“You know,” Demyx began unsteadily, “I should have been the first person to notice this.”

“I've heard about lookalikes, but this is just ridiculous,” Vanitas drawled from his place on the far side of the bench. For some reason, his accent twisted the line to hilarity, and Zexion was fighting laughter. All the while, Kairi and Xion were trying to figure out whether or not they were staring into a mirror.

“This is so weird...” Xion managed after a while. Kairi, however, managed to take the event in stride, taking the girl's offered hand and shaking it twice.

She grinned. “It's a pleasure.” Then, turning to Zexion, she quietly inquired, “Are you really gay?” Apparently, she hadn't picked up on the fact that almost everyone from the table behind them had stopped talking, and were now listening intently to the conversation.

Demyx had to give the boy some credit for not choking on the juice he'd been sipping from. Then, with all the poise of a swan, he replied, “The gossip chain will believe anything.”

“I'll take that as a 'yes.'”

“You can take it as a 'no,' thank you very much,” he snapped, sending her a fierce look that sent shivers down the blond's spine as he watched on. Then, one-handed, the periwinkle-haired boy signed, “Kairi's a bitch.”

Off to his left, Vanitas sighed. “While you're at it, do you have any other damaging accusations to throw our way? Homosexuality may be big, but popularity demands that you be dramatic.” Grabbing his backpack from the floor, he tossed it on the table beside his lunch tray. “What's next? AIDs? Drug addiction? Bastard offspring?”

Much to Kairi's credit, she looked suitably cowed at this. Ducking her head, she muttered, “Sorry.” This seemed to surprise the raven-haired boy.

Demyx sighed. “Now look what you did,” he signed to the shorter boy.

“Had to be done,” he replied. He attempted to appear dignified and self-satisfied, but the blond picked out bits of guilt filtering through his facade. Without warning, he grabbed his bag back off the table, along with his tray, and left.

Turning back to the redhead, he shrugged. “Sorry about that. He's not that bad, once you get to know him.” She was quiet at this. “Kairi?”

“I didn't mean to pry,” she eventually managed, sounding very much like she was on the brink of tears. “I really didn't. It's just... I don't know. Instead of believing the rumors I figured I'd ask you straight out instead of believing what I'm told.” Turning her eyes on Zexion, fighting back the beginnings of tears, she grinned. “I really am sorry.”

Running a hand through his hair, Zexion sighed. “Look, it's fine, just don't do it again. You of all people should know what people do to guys who are 'mo.”

“I wonder how the rumor got started, then.”

The shorter boy shrugged. “Knowing the gossip chain, it came from thin air.”

They were quiet for a long time before Demyx spoke. “So, better than the popular table?”

Much to his surprise, Kairi laughed. “Surprisingly, yeah.” She ducked her head in an attempt to hide what she knew to be an enamored grin.

Then, without warning, Xion announced, “We should have a party.”

-Visual-Boy-

Friday usually spelled ASL club meetings that ended in disaster since the teacher didn't bother coming in for more than fifteen minutes. (Not that he ever did.) Many would look upon this as irresponsible, as the club was scheduled to run for two and a half hours. None the less, Mr. Pete would drop the sign in sheet on the front desk, pester everyone for signatures, and leave. To an extent, the group would behave. Anything that happened would come out of Pete's wallet, sure, but then the man would get them right back with summer job offers sent through their parents. Summer jobs that parents saw as opportunities for their young and bright children to get into the world.

Let it be acknowledged that the first job one works should not be on a steam boat. Especially when your boss – your “Captain” – happens to be a hill billy cum red neck cum your Phys. Ed. Teacher, Mr. Pete.

In the way that teens usually did, these meetings quickly dissolved into discussions – in sign language – as to the best sex slang, positions, and the like. (The main contributors being Vanitas and, surprisingly enough, Xion.)

Thank God it was Wednesday.

Leaning over his desk, a wary eye on the clock, Demyx tapped Lexaeus on the shoulder. “Hey, Lexaeus,” he whispered.

The boy looked up from his book curiously. “What's up?” he gruffly replied, fixing Demyx with a suspicious, under the eyebrow stare. It was the kind that only looked right if you had a heavy brow line. In extension it was perfectly normal for Demyx to fight the sudden and intense urge to shit his pants and run from the room in hysterics, crying for his mommy, because Lexaeus had a ridiculously heavy brow line.

Suspecting a sudden bout of laryngitis brought on by pure, liquid terror running through his veins, or a second round of puberty, Demyx signed instead of trusting his voice. Did you know we had an ASL club?

Lexaeus blinked. The shorter boy began to sweat through – not in, but through – his (distinctly solid) seat. Never before had he felt his death so near. The only relief allowed to him was that his life hadn't flashed before his eyes. Yet.

I had no idea. When is it?

And so the legend has proclaimed to the world; “When the Ginger replied, the Hero felt the cold hand of Death retreat from his scrotum. But the escape from impending Death was not one to glorify, as the hand of Life once again took its position at his anus, instantly prepared to delve in as deep, fast, and as lacking-of-lube as any random situation should call for.”

Having recovered from his brush with Death, and upon realizing that Lexaeus wasn't glaring daggers at him, Demyx replied, Every day after school. It runs until 5:00 in the room across from the teacher's lounge.

How do you attend? Isn't Swimming until 5?

No practice on Mondays and Fridays – something about the levels of – Demyx paused. “What's 'chlorine' in Sign Language?” he whispered.

They both stared at each other for a moment.

“That's a good question,” Lexaeus admitted.

“So what about Football? Do you have any days off?”

He shrugged. “Just Fridays.”

Sharing a grin – one that was no doubt filled to the brim with some kind of shit – Demyx suppressed a laugh. I'll see you there?

You can count on it.

At that particular moment, crouched at the base of the blond boy's chair, Life readied a finger and grinned.

-Visual-Boy-

Demyx blamed Vanitas.

There was no particular reason why, especially since it had been Xion's idea in the first place, but Demyx blamed Vanitas for the party date having been set that weekend.

And he was having an outbreak.

Zexion's mother had agreed to having a party at their place. While this confused the blond to no end – as parents never actually agreed to parties – he didn't question it. Naturally, he arrived on time with Lexaeus in tow. He watched as everyone played Pictionary. He watched as everyone played charades. He watched as everyone filed into Zexion's room and he pulled out, much to the blond's shock, an entire unopened bottle of Jack.

The DARE button affixed to his chest – which Seifer swore was actually pinned to his collarbone and not his shirt – stared out at everyone enough to make them feel just a touch guilty. 'A touch' meaning they only took two shots each. Then Demyx was glad they had alcohol, because watching drunk people play Twister was hilarious. And it gave him a chance to sidle over to Xion.

Without anything else to say, he tapped her shoulder, drawing her attention, and signed, “So what's your secret?”

She grinned, then reached into her back pocket. “I thought you'd never ask,” she giggled. Handing him a plain leather wallet, the girl nodded for him to go ahead.

Looking at the thing curiously, he gave it a full 360 before he opened it up. There were the usual things – library card, state ID, two dollars, and a guitar pick. (He was shocked at the realization that she played. But, upon glancing over at her, it finally struck him that she dressed like a Cobain buff.) A little flap on the right side of the object, when pulled, was revealed to be a line of photos, and he was about to move on before he paused, and finally looked.

First there was a man, tall and blond with a goatee and bright blue eyes. He and Xion stood side by side, posing for the photo. Second was a close-up of their faces, seemingly taken in a mall photo-booth. So was the third, but they were holding each other tight. In the fourth and fifth they were running around a yard, giving each other piggy back rides.

The fifth, she was wearing a hospital gown, carrying a brown-haired baby with the biggest blue eyes Demyx had ever seen.

He could feel his heart breaking. Slowly, slowly, ever so slowly.

Sixth; the man was kissing the baby.

Xion was more than off limits; she was taken.

Seventh; the man was holding the baby, smiling for the camera.

“That's Luxord, and that's Sora,” she said, pointing to the man, then to the baby. “Luxord was my English teacher at my last school. When I got pregnant and dropped out he was right there, talking about adoption papers and alternative schools. After I gave birth Mom moved us from Beaverton here to Portland, and Luxord adopted Sora.” She glanced down at her left hand and grinned, holding it out from him to see the chastity ring. “Then he gave me this.”

Demyx was very glad that he had an excuse not to respond. He feared his voice would crack.

“As soon as I graduate, I'm his.”

Someone whistled, made a few cat-calls, and the blond looked up to see that at some point Zexion had fallen on Lexaeus. Vanitas teased them incessantly, but neither seemed to hear him. Taking stock of the looks the two were giving each other, the blond heaved a sigh through his nose, clenched his jaw against his mouth-guard, and almost bolted for the bathroom.

He wished the world would just go away for a while.


	7. Separation Anxiety

Since the inception of religion, one particular book has dictated that something in particular would happen some day. Some mysterious plan that had something to do with God and Satan. Until then, humans were to think of everyone and everything as equals; treat the world their Lord created for them with respect. Obviously, something went wrong some time between the first volcano blowing and, well, fire. The Dinosaurs died out, and then Humans reigned supreme – a large population of animals followed, ever faithful to a higher form of intelligence. Despite their faith, humankind would then spend the majority of their time atop the food chain demonstrating just how badly they could fuck everything up.

Now, when the source of something goes downhill (water, food, the leather supply for a sex shop) a chain of events is sure to follow. And while some of the results aren't all that terrible (like forgoing that leather whip for a ball gag) some can really effect the quality of living. (Black plague, anyone?) And thus, with the failure of this initial plan, to be seen as the source of all plans (after which God proclaimed, “Fuck it,” chucked his sperm at the planet, and held fast forward to get to the video games and cable porn) a good ninety percent of all following plans were doomed to follow in its footsteps. To failure, that is.

This is Demyx's explanation for why his life got fucked up so fast.

-Visual-Boy-

Lesson Seven: Separation Anxiety

-Visual-Boy-

When Demyx showed up on Zexion's door some time between six and seven in the evening on the second day of the new year, the periwinkle-haired boy didn't know what to think. Especially since the blond looked like shit.

“Come on in,” he offered, leading the boy into the house, then to his room. “You hungry? We have...” He paused, calling to mind Demyx's diet. “Fruit, I think. Two apples, three oranges.”

“I'm going to kill myself.”

Light blue eyebrows rose at this. “Care to elaborate?”

“Just... I don't know. Xion's just... wow. Smart, athletic, sweet – and all this she didn't date, so I kept up hope, even with that 'chastity' ring of hers. But no – it had to be an engagement ring!”

The smaller boy stared.

And stared.

And stared.

“You know that's really unnerving, right?”

“Not as unnerving as you killing yourself over a girl that I told you from the start was off limits.”

The blond sighed, then collapsed against the wall. “Figure of speech,” he drawled. “I'm more likely to kill myself with stress before I get up to courage to jump off a bridge or something.”

“It's been two months, Demyx.”

He sighed. “Yeah, I know.”

Much to Demyx's surprise, and yet sort of not, Zexion walked away from him. He followed the boy further into the house until they arrived in his host's bedroom. Zexion then leaned down, lifted the loose floorboard, and pulled out a plain white mug and the bottle of Jack he remembered from the party. “Drink,” he commanded, offering both to the older boy. “I'm limiting you to half a glass, though.”

Considering it for a second, Demyx nodded. “Sounds like a plan – but I'm not getting drunk alone.” Then, in a move that surprised even him, he reached up and removed his DARE pin.

After a good amount of time, when both boys were suitably hammered, the topic went back to Xion. “'Luxord was my English teacher at my last school.'” Demyx enthusiastically announced in a terrible falsetto that sounded nothing like the girl. “'As soon as I graduate, I'm his.'” Laughing hysterically, the boy collapsed against the bed.

“She didn't lead you on or anything,” Zexion slurred, finally growing tired of Demyx's antics.

“She didn't have to,” the blond groaned. “God, she is gorgeous. A regular beauty, that's what she is. Guys just flock – we can't help it. Even you can't help it, and you're gay!”

Zexion shrugged.

Demyx laughed mournfully. “See? Even you can't resist her. No one can.” He heaved another long sigh, feeling his arms go limp against the mattress. He couldn't have moved if he'd tried. “I thought with her I at least had a chance. But I guess I really am cursed. I'll never lose my first kiss, and let's not mention my virginity.”

Through the entirety of the blond's small rant, Zexion had been listening intently, nursing the white mug, which he'd nabbed just before Demyx had collapsed onto the bed, between fidgety fingers. Everything was in overdrive. Colors were bright, lights were dark – it was as if his retinas had gone insane. The world swam before his eyes in a monochrome type of technicolor that made no sense one second, and held the secret of life the next. It was as if the entire world had come back to one point, and that point was in his brain. For the following five minutes the boy was convinced he was God. That Demyx's speech was one being made to a God that would call the shots and make the world his bitch, because Gods could do what they liked.

Eventually this feeling wore off, and he was left feeling bored, and just a touch empty.

“Let's go for a walk,” he eventually suggested.

Demyx groaned. “Only if I can jump off a bridge.”

“Come on,” he coaxed. “Voodoo doughnuts awaits.”

“I'm Vegan,” Demyx reminded him. “I'm pretty sure doughnuts have egg in them.”

“Fine – is there anywhere you want to go?”

-Visual-Boy-

Half an hour later, the world was at peace. At least in the eyes of Demyx, who had been boozed to the point where nothing mattered. Not herpes, not hive-mind mentalities, and certainly not Xion.

Before leaving the house, Zexion had pulled a half-squashed pack of cigarettes from the loose floorboard, along with an old Everlight. There, on a hill overlooking the Columbia river, he took a deep drag, coughed a lot, and sighed even more. “You know, they're thinking of building a few more factories along the river.”

He offered the cigarette to Demyx, who promptly decided, 'Fuck it, and accepted, reaching around the bucket of doughnuts to grab at the butt. Taking a long drag, he sputtered out a cough. “That's America for you,” he wheezed. “Although I personally expected better of Portland. 'Keep Portland Weird' and all that.”

“Did you know they're thinking of making that the city motto?”

“Nope.” He took another drag, wheezed, and handed the cigarette back.

Taking a heavy breath from the toxic stick, the shorter boy frowned. “Hey,” he gasped, choking out the smoke. “What are the chances of me getting Herpes from you right now?”

Demyx shrugged. “In truth? A million to one. I'm not having an outbreak, so I'm not contagious.” 

“Oh...” He paused. “So the health teacher who drilled us about sharing cups and stuff was wrong?”

“No, he's right,” the blond mused. “Don't share a cup with a stranger. If it's someone you trust saying they're not contagious at the moment, you can probably trust them.”

Zexion whispered a small, “Oh...” Then, a good twenty minutes later, announced, “Lexaeus asked me out last week.” The blond choked on his own spit. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” he managed after a bit, rubbing his sore throat. “Yeah, that just kind of... blindsided me, for lack of a better word.” He coughed again for good measure. “What did you say?”

“Yes, of course,” the boy chuckled. “You know how I am around him.”

Demyx grinned. “He better treat you right.”

“Oh, don't worry,” he drawled. “He will.” They were quiet for a long time after this, staring at the bridge, the river, and the suburbia across the water.

“So what's your favorite subject in school?” Demyx asked out of the blue.

Zexion looked up at his queerly, then laughed. “English or Math,” he replied evenly. “I'm guessing you like Phys. Ed.”

“Nah,” he replied. “History is where it's at.” He paused. “What kind of Math are you in?”

“Advanced calculus.”

The blond's eyes widened. “Holy shit!”

"I like to think that I'm pretty smart for a sophomore."

“Sophomore, huh?” The disbelieving tone brought the smaller boy's gaze to the other, and he scoffed.

“Yeah,” he replied. “What of it?”

“But I thought you had seventh grade with Lexaeus – he's a Junior.”

“I did.”

“What happened?”

“I...” Zexion trailed off when his voice hitched, then cleared his throat to try again. “I was in an accident. A car accident.”

“Oh...” He paused. “Coma?”

“No! What are you – hooked up to a soap? I broke my back. They put some plates in beside my spine. It takes time to recover from shit like that.”

“Oh...” They were quiet for a few seconds. “Does Lexaeus know?"

Zexion raised his eyebrows. “We've been dating for a week – why on Earth would he know?”

“I don't know – I just... You know, I just figured he would know. You know?”

“No, I don't know.”

“Okay, then.” He shrugged. “If you don't know, then you don't know.”

“Stop saying 'know.'”

“You know, and I know, that there is no way I'm doing that, you know?”

“Too bad.” Shoving the cigarette between the boy's lips, the smaller boy fixed his eyes back on the horizon. The blond followed suit. Then they stared out at the river, both imagining a day far into the future when they wouldn't be able to see it from the hill, the view blocked by factories.

-Visual-Boy-

It was on January 8th, 1996, a Monday, that everything changed.

Demyx, having met up with Zexion at the door, greeted the boy enthusiastically, as he usually did when they crossed paths. It was a normal morning. A normal day. Nothing special. Everyone had just gotten back from Winter Break, and thus grogginess should have ensued.

First period passed much as it should have, with a few people nodding off and one or two kids getting sent to the Principal's office for foul language. Second and third happened much the same.

At lunch, on a day Demyx happened to be sitting at his old table with Kairi and Seifer, he saw first-hand as one of Lexaeus' teammates approached the ASL club's usual table and dumped a plate of spaghetti over his head.

Zexion just sat there as the boy jeered, “Fuckin' faggot.” From the shorter boy's reaction, or lack thereof, the blond had a feeling something like it had been going on all day. Especially when he calmly stood from his seat, stepped around his assailant, and walked out of the cafeteria, cool as could be. Beside him, the blond felt Lexaeus begin to rise, but kicked him in the shin to deter him.

“Stay here,” he whispered under the noise of the other students before standing. The boy followed Zexion at a quick pace, careful not to lose sight of him. As he passed the football player he made sure to send him a venomous glare, but was unsure as to whether or not it was effective. He'd never been very good at things like that.

Eventually, he followed the periwinkle-haired boy to the bathroom, where he was picking noodles from his hair. He spun to look at who entered, panicked. His fear receded, though, upon seeing Demyx. “Need help?” the blond offered. At the boy's nod, he grinned.

Stepping up to the sinks, he grabbed at the towel dispensers. “Can you believe some people these days?” he griped, running some of the paper towels under the sink. “No manners, I swear.” Turning to face the boy, who had managed to get a majority of the noodles into the trash, he swiped at his cheek, wiping away some of the sauce.

“I wonder if this is anything like living with monkeys,” the smaller boy mused darkly. Demyx ignored him in favor of cleaning his face. Three sheets of towels later, he dubbed the boy 'clean.'

Pulling the shorter boy into a hug, Demyx held him tight before letting the teen pull away, only to grab onto his shoulders and observe him at arms length. “Are you okay?”

Staring at the floor, the boy replied, “I'm fine.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah, I'm sure.”

“Totally?”

Rolling his eyes, Zexion sighed. “I'm not a girl, you know.”

“Really? You took it like one. All silence and class.”

“Not funny,” he managed through a clenched jaw, though he was visibly fighting laughter. Demyx grinned.

“Good.”

He scoffed. “You're awfully eager to take care of me.” Shaking out of the boy's grasp, he turned to the sink and washed the last of the tomato sauce from his hands.

“Yeah, well, what are best friends for?” Then Zexion did laugh. “Lexaeus wanted to come, just so you know. I told him to stay put. I've already been seen with you in the cafeteria, but he hasn't. The longer we keep the connection between the two of you out of sight, the better.”

Staring up at the taller boy with surprise blatant on his face, the periwinkle-haired teen didn't bother to hide the awe in his voice. “You're... really smart.”

“No, I'm not,” the blond corrected. “I've just been working too hard on my social image for too long. Running and hiding are my fortes.”

Zexion grinned. “I don't give you nearly enough credit, do I?”

“No, but it's nice to hear you admit it,” the taller boy joked. “Now, we have a few options. You can hide here in the bathroom while I get our bags, or we can both go out there and face the world in all of its glory.”

Shaking his head, the periwinkle-haired boy laughed. “I'll take my chances with the bathroom, if that's alright.”

“Great.” Making his way to the door, Demyx called over his shoulder, “I'll be back in a bit. Don't go anywhere.”

“I'll be here.”

Walking calmly back into the cafeteria, the blond found that life had gone on as usual. Unlike in movies, just being popular didn't mean that everyone documented your every move. He could get away with a lot more than most gave him credit, because it wasn't the crowd he had to worry about; it was his friends.

“The hell? Why'd you follow the fairy?” Seifer bitched the moment he got back to collect his bag. Demyx frowned. For a solid second he fought the urge to sock the shorter blond in the jaw.

“In case you didn't notice, Seifer,” he hissed, having regained his composure, “that 'fairy' is my friend.” The look of utter shock on the boy's face was enough to make the possible recoil worth it. He cautiously glanced at Lexaeus, who appeared to be glaring at his spaghetti, then retreated to Zexion's table.

“This is his bag, right?” he asked, picking up the messenger bag sitting abandoned at the edge of the row. He directed the question at Vanitas, but Xion answered.

“Yeah. How is he?” she asked. Demyx fought the urge to cry.

“Fine. Why didn't you follow?”

She scoffed. “What part of 'boy's bathroom' don't you understand?”

“And Vanitas?”

Her eyebrows rose. “He's Vanitas.”

Glancing over at the boy, he really took him in for the first time since their initial meeting. Permanent slouch, baggy clothing, backpack closely guarded – most likely concealing some sort of drug or animal carcass. Xion's words, however simple, made the blond pause as he finally realized just what Vanitas would give to keep his secret. What all of them would give – would do – to keep their secrets. Friends, social status, entire lifestyles, and – in Vanitas' case – criminal acts.

What happened in England? he found himself thinking for the first time.

Eventually, when he'd pushed his curiosity aside, he made for the bathroom. He arrived just in time to see Zexion being forced into a stall.

Grabbing the guy by the back of his hoodie, he yanked hard. Tumbling to the floor, the boy gaped up at him in surprise. “Riku,” he greeted, recognizing him from the Swim team. “I must admit, I expected better from you.” Not waiting for a reply, he threw Zexion's backpack at the periwinkle-haired boy and walked straight out of the bathroom, expecting him to follow.

He did. “You shouldn't have done that,” the boy whispered, careful not to fall behind as Demyx led them down the hall. “If I just take it they'll get sick of it eventually.”

“No, they won't,” the blond announced. “The thing about people like that is that it's usually something like Religion or insecurities that drive them. Those don't go away easy – especially in High School. And since you're homo they don't see you has a real person; just a disruption in God's plan or a blight on humanity.” He sighed. “Now, where's your next class?”


	8. Unplugged by the Columbia

The figure of Life did not spend all of its time stalking teenagers. No, Life had a life, thank you very much. Like everyone else, its day job was set aside with the sun. Stalking humans was not the most entertaining thing in the world, although a few of its subjects were quite entertaining. Like Demyx O'Donohue, for example. Bright boy; people didn't give him enough credit. But boy did he get himself into trouble.

Moving right along, Life had a life. At the end of the day the specter would retire to its home and watch cable porn until morning.

Life may have had a life, but that didn't mean it was a good one.

-Visual-Boy-

Lesson Eight: Unplugged by the Columbia

-Visual-Boy-

It was a Friday, and Zexion and Demyx were on their way out of the house. This is until, without warning, Zexion paused. "What's that?"

"Huh?" Demyx intelligently mused, turning to look at the boy, then following his gaze to the little yellow bundle of fur huddled in the corner. "Oh – that just Ventus. Don't mind him."

"What happened to Bob?"

"A car."

Zexion blinking a few times, most likely trying to imagine just how a Guinea Pig could have been hit by a car. When his imagination failed to produce a legitimate scenario, he settled for voicing a small, insignificant, "Oh."

-Visual-Boy-

Peter's Room was a humble establishment just off the freeway and smack dab in the middle of a “varied” neighborhood.

All the legends had played there, if the posters were anything to go by. Nirvana, in particular. Demyx remembered the week in April of 1994 where absolutely nothing got done.

He wondered how Xion had taken it.

“Hey, Zex,” the man stamping hands informed them. “Five each.” Handing over his portion, while Zexion stood on tiptoes to pay for his, they were stamped and ushered into the adjoined room. There were a few tables off to their right, with an area cleared in front of the stage for dancing. To their left was a bar, which some of the soon-to-be audience attended dutifully.

“It's smaller than I expected,” Demyx admitted. “I thought it'd be some huge thing.”

Zexion laughed. “It's a gig, not a concert.”

Taking the seats furthest from the stage, the boys turned their eyes to the lonely drum set that adorned it. “So I take it you come here often?” the blond eventually asked, curious.

“Yeah,” the periwinkle-haired boy replied, reaching into his bag and retrieving a bright yellow Walkman. “Every other week, I think.” Shoving his hand further into the bag, he fished around for a good twenty seconds before withdrawing the ugliest, biggest, strangest headphones Demyx had ever seen. They were easily half the size of Zexion's head, and had been wrapped in so many layers of duct tape that the blond could only guess that there was at least an entire roll on there. Beneath the tape, he could see bright yellow, but this was in small patches of no great significance. “It's an awesome place.” Plugging the headphones in, he set them on his head so that only one ear was covered.

In the lull that followed, Demyx attempted to figure out just what was playing. However, he could only make out the occasional thrum of the drums and a crowd cheering. It was strange; he'd never met anyone who didn't like their music loud. Ten minutes later he gave up guessing. “Whatcha listenin' to?”

“Nirvana Unplugged,” the boy informed him, taking hold of the free side of his headphones. He moved it around a bit, trying to find a comfortable spot where it wouldn't dig into the cup of his ear. But we all know this is impossible. He gave up before too long, and instead asked, “Wanna listen?”

Demyx couldn't fight a smile. “Absolutely!”

The shorter boy adjusted his headphones so they were on both ears and stopped the cassette. Reaching back into his bag, he pulled out a small splitter and a sturdy-looking set of headphones.

Zexion rewound the cassette.

They plugged in.

Applause.

The first words, spoken, prompted a big grin to come over the taller boy. “This is off our first album. Most people don't own it.”

An opening guitar rift.

Screams of adoration.

“I need an easy friend, I do, with an ear to lend.”

As the cassette wore on, it became increasingly obvious that Cobain wasn't sure about his notes, or his words, made all the more obvious by excessive slurring and scooping. There were mistakes in the accompanying instruments, and the entire thing should have sounded terrible. But it didn't, and that's part of what made Nirvana a legend in the blond's eyes. They were always getting better, but it never felt like they were aiming for perfection.

Halfway through the first song, Zexion pulled out a pen and grabbed a napkin, then began sketching.

Several tracks later – many of which Cobain was convinced he would mess up on, but apparently didn't – he glanced over.

Tapping on the shorter boy's shoulder to get his attention, he signed, “Hey, that's pretty good.”

The Walkman clicked, and Zexion flipped over the cassette before responding. “Thanks,” he replied, only to grab at the napkin and crinkle it into a ball. Shoving it into his pocket, he shrugged. “Self-taught.”

Demyx looked at him strangely as the next song – On a Plain – started up. He recalled the drawing, which had been a detailed sketch of what he figured was a computer chip, and fought the urge to reach into the boy's pocket, drag it out, and stare at it. “That's good for being self-taught.”

“I just like visuals,” he replied eventually, when the song was almost over. It had been so long that Demyx had almost forgotten what they were talking about.

The blond couldn't help but laugh as someone commented, “What are they tuning, a harp?” The audience laughed. “I thought we were a big, rich rock band. We should have a bunch of extra guitars,” as they tuned. He was almost convinced it was Cobain, but he couldn't be sure.

“That's my favorite part,” Zexion signed to him. “I don't know why.”

If possible, the blond's grin grew wider. “Mine, too,” he replied honestly. When the next song started up, though, his face went slack as he listened, as did the shorter boy's.

I can't believe it's almost been three years, he thought to himself. “How did you react to the news?” he then inquired.

Zexion shrugged. “Like everyone else, I guess. Cried a bit. Listened to the cassettes over and over again. Nothing horribly original, but since when is grieving supposed to be?” He paused before continuing in a tone of awe.

“Xion took all her concert posters, cassette covers, and CD cases and made a collage. Then she used them as a canvas and did a study of his face in oil paints. She's artistic like that.” Raising his eyebrows, the blond didn't bother hiding how impressed he was by this. The shorter boy scowled. “Don't you go falling for her again.”

He laughed. “You don't have to worry about that!” Scoffing, the boy turned his eyes to the stage. “Jeez – are they late or something?”

“No band is ever early,” the periwinkle-haired teen replied with a crooked grin. “I once went to a four to six show and didn't get home until one in the morning.”

Demyx blinked. “That's not normal, is it?”

“No,” he replied. “That was honestly a very extreme case, and by the time the gig was halfway through I was the only person in the audience.”

“Speaking of concerts, you ever been?”

The shorter boy's eyebrows shot skyward at this. “Um... duh.”

“I meant to a Nirvana concert.”

He sighed. “Can't say I have. Xion has, though.”

Demyx jumped. “Did she say what it was like?”

Zexion grinned, and his fingers were a bit loose for his following words – as if he were being wistful. “Like their namesake.”

“Heaven?”

“No,” he denied simply. But when the blond's face fell he grinned, then went on to explain. “She said it was like reaching enlightenment over and over again, until her heart couldn't contain it any longer.” The boy smothered what must have been the biggest grin Demyx had ever seen. “It must have been amazing.”

“I bet,” the blond replied, imagining what it would be like. What had been described was how he'd felt when he'd first heard Lithium; revelation after revelation until he just didn't know where to put that feeling rising in his chest. But unlike Cobain, he couldn't put it into words.

It was then that the band came onstage; the very moment Demyx thought to ask, “Why did you bring me? You could have brought Lexaeus – made it a date.”

Zexion grinned and replied, “I want to listen to the band, not make out.” Then, as an afterthought, he added, “Besides, what are friends for, if not to comfort each other in our darkest hour?”

The reply made something rise in Demyx; something very similar to the feeling Nirvana gave him. And he realized, much in the way that a car crashes, that Zexion was his best friend.

From his corner, Life looked on. There was no way to tell its emotions, as it lacked the facial tissue to express them, and his body hadn't shifted. But if anyone started long enough, what they would see – somewhere in its blank, bulbous, so very gray eyes – was pity.

-Visual-Boy-

When our Hero arrived in the locker room for Swim practice, he wasn't surprised to find it empty. He was earlier than usual, having walked Zexion straight to ASL club before leaving. He didn't feel like dawdling, and instead wanted to get in the pool as soon as possible. But before he could change, someone barreled into the room. At first he ignored it, stripping off his shirt and stuffing it in his locker.

It was only when they spoke that it occurred to him that something was wrong.

“Well, if it isn't the fairy's little boyfriend!” Then he was grabbed from behind and shoved face-first into his locker, which closed behind him and locked from the outside.

“Hey,” he shouted when the pain in his nose lessened enough so he could think properly. “What the hell? Let me out!”

“Not a chance!” There was another slam, somewhere off to his left, and another body was thrown into the container beside him. “Didn't anyone tell you?” the guy drawled. “No sports today; staff meeting for the coaches.” They banged on the metal, startling them. “Be a good boy, now!” Laughter – from the one what was with the guy who spoke – chilled the blond. Soon they left, and Demyx was left in silence.

“So,” the other person mused, voice muffled by the locker, “Who do I have the honor of sharing a round of hazing with?”

The blond flinched. “Vanitas?” he gaped, disbelieving.

“Hullo, Demyx,” he replied, his accent seeming to multiply in the close quarters. “It seems the usual theory of reputations not spreading by association doesn't work any more.”

Demyx scoffed. “I noticed. Do you, by chance, happen to know if anyone will be coming to our rescue any time soon?”

He could hear the other boy shrug. “At my old school I would just piss around until the keepers strolled through.”

“Keepers?”

“Janitors.”

“Well... what did you do?”

The younger boy laughed. “It's not what I did – it's what I am. On an American scale, I have an IQ of 192, and I'm socially inept.”

Demyx paused. “And that means...?”

He laughed. “It means I'm a smart tosser who doesn't register insults as insults. Now, if you don't mind, I'm going to sit here and pretend I don't have to go to the John until someone comes in.”

It was almost two hours before the janitors made it to the locker room.

Vanitas, miraculously, didn't piss himself.

-Visual-Boy-

Strolling into the ASL club room, the blond bit back a scowl. “So, the situation has officially gotten out of hand,” Demyx verbally announced to the other members, Vanitas hot on his heels.

Xion looked around, confused. “What do you mean?”

“Demyx and I just got very acquainted with each other in the locker room,” Vanitas supplied in sign language. “Nothing quite like bonding inside a small, foot-wide compartment that you shouldn't be able to fit into in the first place.

Turning his gaze on Zexion, the blond signed, “I vote we do something drastic.”

“So the abuse spreads to you and now we do something drastic?” the shorter boy replied bitterly.

“I think what Demyx is trying to say,” Vanitas cut in, much to the blond's relief, “is that since all of us are targets, we can't protect you any more.”

“Right,” the blond agreed. Then, as an afterthought, he glanced over at Pete and asked, “Can he read sign language?”

Zexion sighed. “If he could we wouldn't be an official club. You've seen what we sign on Fridays.”

Demyx grinned, but it didn't last long. “Hey, where's Lexaeus?”

“Football practice, I guess,” the periwinkle-haired boy supplied easily.

“No,” the blond began. “He's not. No practice for any sports today – that's why we were in there for so long.”

“He probably went home, then,” Vanitas cut in, seeing the shorter boy's sudden panicked expression. “Come on – no one messes with Lexaeus. He's, like, a tree.” Before he could finish, Zexion had already bolted from the room.

Almost immediately the rest of the club was on his heels. They caught up to him not two hallways later, where he had slowed to a stiff strut. It wasn't long before Demyx overtook him. “Where are we going?”

“His locker,” the boy replied, turning into the front hallway. They walked along the compartments one by one. Demyx did a hopping sort of dance to avoid colliding with Zexion when he stopped dead in his tracks. Dropping slowly to his knees, the periwinkle-haired teen breathed deeply, then sighed. “Vegetable oil.”

Curious, Demyx turned his eyes to the floor where there was, to all appearances, an unfortunate puddle of vegetable oil. “What about it?”

“It's coming from his locker,” the younger teen pointed out, waving his hand in the general direction of the compartment on his left – 318. “Do you think it's a coincidence?”

The blond blinked, confused. “What's a coincidence?”

Zexion sighed. “Do you think you being shoved in a locker and Lexaeus' locker getting hit with Vegetable Oil is connected or not?” The others, who had until that point remained silent, murmured among themselves for a bit before anyone spoke again.

“It has to be,” Xion eventually pointed out. “Like Vanitas said – Lexaeus is a tree. Anyone who's seen him on the football field wouldn't risk it.”

“Lexaeus is a pacifist, actually,” Demyx put in.

“So anyone who would risk something like this either did it anonymously, or knew he wouldn't fight back,” Xion concluded. “I don't get it, though – why would they do this? It's not like anyone saw him go to ASL club. And if that was enough to get you on the black list you'd have been on it ages ago.”

“Any way you put it, this isn't an isolated event,” Zexion snapped. “All of us are officially targets – including Lexaeus. According to every piece of literature out there we should react accordingly.”

Demyx blinked, staring at the teen with a mix of awe and relief. “So we're going to fight back?”

“Eventually,” the periwinkle-haired teen drawled. “For now we take it – but not laying down.”

Stepping up to the two, Xion put her hands on her hips with a smile. “So, who died and made you Sailor Moon?”

“I prefer 'Tuxedo Mask,' thank you very much. And you don't have to participate if you don't want to.”

Vanitas stepped up, then, into the empty space in their group to make a circle. “I smell trouble!” he singsonged. “What are we up to?”

-Visual-Boy-

“You've got to be joking.” Kairi stared down the blond teen invading her living room, not quite sure she had heard him right. “What in the blazes of Hell made you come to me?”

“Because you're the only person we can give an alibi – and I know you're good with computers.”

The redhead bit back the urge to say that she was a fair bit more than “good” with computers. Reaching up to play with a strand of her hair, she sighed. “Look, I know you've fallen out of favor with the student body, but that's your own fault. There's no need to drag me down with you. Think about what you're asking me to do. If we get caught we could be trialed as adults.”

“So you'll do it?”

“I never said that,” she ground out, tugging on the lock of hair before dropping her hand to her lap. “You're talking about trespassing, theft, the disregard of several constitutional amendments, and cutting my hair.”

He shrugged. “Sounds about right.”

“Cutting my hair like Xion's.”

“Yup.”

“And going to a school dance with you.”

Biting his lip, he turned his gaze to the side. “Well, it's not like you're going to be with me the whole evening.”

Leaning back into the couch, Kairi picked at the arm with a sour look on her face. Eventually, after she figured he had sweated enough, she mused, “I wonder what's gotten into you.”

Eyes lighting up, the boy clutched his knees in glee. “So you'll do it?”

“I can't deny you anything,” she drawled miserably. “Besides,” the girl continued, fixing the blond with a look that had him recoiling into his seat, “I have a condition.”

Swallowing hard, Demyx fought the urge to run from the room screaming. It wouldn't do to cow in front of Kairi like a dog. Not when she was on his side. And yet he feared the condition, if only because she was a teenage girl.

And teenage girls were not known for being kind.


	9. Comic Books and Blow Part 1

For the record, Vanitas thought the entire thing was a simple, brilliant, really stupid idea. Breaking into the principal's office? Simple. Stealing the permanent records of everyone in his school? Brilliant. Posting their efforts for all to see to shut down the rumor mill, hoping it would evenly alienate every other student to the point where they would leave Lexaeus and Zexion, the resident not-so-secret-any-more homosexual couple, alone?

Really fucking stupid.

Don't get the wrong idea – he was very, very down for the idea. Nothing quite like embarrassing half the school in one unforgettable go. Pranks such as those were the things of legends. People who pulled things like that off went right up there with Hercules, Batman, Gandalf, and Magneto in the Halls of Awesome. After a while it just became something that the mere mention of could fill a room with memories. Not laughter, not smiles, and most certainly not fond, teary eyed looks of wistfulness for days long past – the uncomfortable kind that kept you up at night and gave you nightmares. Twenty years down the line Vanitas would be at that reunion and say, “Oh, yeah – I remember that,” and smile that little smile that said, “I did it. You know I did it, but you just can't prove it you wankers.” And if he was caught it wasn't like he planned on going to college. Considering his alternatives, jail was looking pretty comfortable.

It was either that or work a minimum wage job living in his parents' basement for the rest of eternity, throwing his paychecks at comic books and blow. Yes, ladies and gentleman, at the tender age of seventeen Vanitas was well aware that he would never amount to anything. And yes, he was comfortable with it.

-Visual-Boy-

Lesson Nine: Comic Books and Blow Part One

-Visual-Boy-

They had all clustered into Demyx's room, where his mother had laid out snacks for them to (supposedly) attack. Not so surprisingly, the only ones to dip into the jar of seaweed strips were Demyx and Kairi. More surprisingly, Lexaeus actually managed to fit through the window.

He was the only one to come through the window.

Moving right along, the ASL club (plus one Kairi with short hair, which baffled Vanitas endlessly as Xion had dyed hers red, effectively making them difficult to tell apart) had gathered around in a circle. They were only waiting on Demyx, now, who had gone downstairs for drinks shortly before Lexaeus had crawled through the aforementioned window.

And for some strange, unexplainable reason Vanitas wanted to hurt Ventis.

The kitten had done absolutely nothing to him. In fact, it had behaved itself very well. At one point it had crawled over to the boy, and it hadn't used its claws to get into his lap, nor had it peed/puked/pooped on him when he finally settled there, curling into a ball. When Vanitas had moved from his seat the cat had politely jumped from its place onto the floor and skittered under the bed where it would be out of the way. Then, when he settled back down it leaped upon him once again, warming his lap and purring non-stop despite the fact that he hadn't even implied that he would pet it. And when the boy portrayed a dislike of the kitten's attentions Ventus had even moved on.

For some strange reason he wanted to hurt the kitten.

Badly.

Naturally, this puzzled him. He had three cats – Flood, Scrapper, and Bruiser – who he loved to death. They weren't particularly loveable, but he adored them anyway. In general he wasn't the type to hurt animals. So he vowed to avoid the thing like the plague.

This didn't seem to work.

When Demyx came in, Kairi had the gall to comment, “Ventis really seems to love Vanitas.” The blond seemed surprised by this. “He's adorable, by the way. How long ago did you get him?”

“We got her,” the tall boy corrected, “a few weeks ago.”

Vanitas just about smashed his face into the flooring.

Women were insufferable.

Excusing himself to the bathroom before they could start laying out the plan one more time, Vanitas fumbled with his jean pocket until he could pull out a baggie with two very squashed brownies. It wouldn't be long before they would be “taking action,” as Demyx put it.

But no matter what people thought, breaking into his own school during Sadie-Hawkins and stealing the permanent records of everyone not involved wasn't something he could do sober.

Nor could he watch Kairi glide across the floor on Demyx's arm.

-Visual-Boy-

"Ready for this?" Vanitas might as well have been talking about chocolate for how smooth his voice was. It was absolutely infuriating.

Kairi bit back a series of curse words as she shimmied out of her dress and threw it over the bathroom stall. On the other side, Xion caught it before laying her own clothes out on the divider. "No," she admitted after a while, nudging her shoes beneath it. "In fact, I am not ready to break into public property, thank you very much."

From the other side, the blond laughed. "I meant the shot," he amended, clinking the glasses together purposely. "You've never boozed before, have you?"

Kairi groaned. "Remind me again why I have to take the shot and Xion doesn't?"

"I'm allergic!" the girl called from the other stall. There was the slide of a zipper, and then she was out, making Kairi feel very self-conscious for taking so long. Sliding the other girl's jeans over her hips, then pulling on the shirt, she stared at the combat boots in disinterest.

"Remind me," she drawled, "how I put these things on."

"Zip up the side first, then lace 'em up," the other girl directed.

Kairi had never before felt so alone. There she was in a bathroom with two other people – one of which was a guy – and it felt like she was the only sane one. Sliding her feet into the boots, she zipped up the sides, then braced one shoe against the green bathroom stall. As slowly as she dared, she tightened the laces until the boot was situated, then repeated with the other shoe. Once finished, she looked down.

They were three sizes too big.

"Are your feet really a nine in mens?" the girl asked in disbelief.

"No," Xion replied evenly. "I just like the extra room. Now get out here – I need Kairi-proval."

Rolling her eyes, the redhead shouldered her backpack and stepped out of the stall, earning an approving glance from Vanitas. She chose to ignore it. Making her way over to the sinks, the girl took in the sight of Xion.

Only it wasn't Xion she was looking at – it was herself. And yet not.

A classy deep-red dress that fell to the floor hugged the slight curves of the young woman before her. A young woman with short red hair, long legs, and a pixie-like figure. She held herself with a sense of purpose and understanding, and Kairi began to wish she could hold even an ounce of that measure of confidence one day.

Knowing her friends wouldn't see that, she sighed. "We need to do your makeup," the girl announced, advancing on the girl with her purse. "Sit on the counter." Xion huffed, but did as she was told, anyway.

Vanitas watched the girls work for about ten minutes before groaning and signing to Xion, "You girls and your makeup."

"I'm hardly a girl," she signed back. "And it's not like I wear this stuff."

"Stop moving, please," Kairi protested.

They stood there for a good ten minutes before Kairi stepped away, proud of her work. She didn't get a chance to admire it for long, because Xion immediately jumped to her feet and out the door, and Vanitas was nudging her arm. "Shot time. Prepare yourself."

"Should I be?" she asked, wary. "Prepared, that is?"

He shrugged, allowing her to take one of the shot glasses. "Well, I'll warn you now – booze, especially this stuff, burns."

Without giving him a chance to get into it, Kairi threw back the shot without any hesitation. She then proceeded to choke, cough, and sputter herself into oblivion. The shot had gone down like a mouthful of nails.

The arm around her shoulders, keeping her upright, was not an expected feeling. "Feeling better, yet?"

"Are you secretly a gentleman or something?" the girl eventually wheezed. "Because if you are, what the fuck?"

Vanitas just laughed at this. "Come on – we have some trespassing and theft to do." She groaned. "But if you're having second thoughts I have some snow back at my place."

"Snow?"

"Yeah, now. You know – ice, blow, cocaine." There was a short silence as she stared up at him. He stood there, holding his shot glass with a pinky pointed outward. She anchored herself to the counter, not quite believing her ears. Unbeknownst to them, a staring contest had been initiated.

After a while, Kairi finally choked out, "I'm sorry, I just hallucinated. I thought you offered me drugs."

"I did."

Brushing aside his hands, she turned on a facet and washed her hands, if only for something to do. "That was a hint."

"A hint, eh?" he mused, taking a seat on the counter. "Sounded more like a brick to me."

The girl gaped at this. "Excuse me?"

"Americans," he sighed, reaching into his pocket to pull out a small baggie with a brownie. "So convinced of your subtlety.

Kairi rolled her eyes at the barb. "Well sorry for trying to be polite. Next time I'll be more straightforward."

Finishing off his brownie in one bite, he washed it down with his shot, then slid from his seat. Grabbing at an abandoned bag beneath the sink – which Kairi presumed was his – he shoved their glasses in them, along with the plastic baggie and motioned for her to follow. The hallway was quiet, aside from the music from the dance filtering in through the walls. Occasionally they would duck into a bathroom to avoid a guard or two, but other than that reaching the Principal's office was ridiculously easy.

Testing the handle, Kairi cursed. "It's locked."

Vanitas rolled his eyes. "Of course it's locked – it's the Principal's office. We aren't the first to break in, and we won't be the last." Kairi watched in surprise as he pulled out a safety pin and a thin steel rod. “Don't tell anyone about today,” he demanded. “Not even Demyx. If my parents learn I can do this I'll have a one-way dead-bolt on my door within the week.” The admission surprised the redhead, who had been looking on with a strange mix of condemnation and admiration.

"You're going to pick the lock?"

Black eyebrows rose at this. "No – I'm going charm it with pretty words and sweetly ask it to open." Sliding the first of the picks into the lock, he motioned for her to keep watch. Huffing, the redhead turned her back on the boy and glared at the office entrance. "Birds are so weird."

Confused, the threw him a glance before turning back to the entrance. "Birds? What brings them up?"

He laughed. "Don't worry about it." 

Long minutes passed of insufferable silence, and she looked cautiously around them. “Couldn't you hurry it up?”

“Nope,” he replied. “Picking a lock is not quick. Now stop distracting me.” Kairi grunted quietly at this, keeping her eyes peeled any unexpected guests. Then, after what seemed to be an eternity, the click of tumblers falling into place startled her and she jumped. “We're in.”

Scanning the area for any wayward guards or students, Kairi followed him into the room. She closed the door carefully behind them, then ran over to the computer. Alarms at the click of a tumbler falling into place, and she looked up. "Did you just lock that?"

"Yeah," he replied. "Guards usually check locks once or twice on rounds."

“Well, what if your pick breaks?” she hissed back. “Then we'll be caught red-handed.”

“Just trust me, aright?”

Rolling her eyes, Kairi turned on her heel and crawled under the desk. Vanitas took a stance beside the window. Keeping lookout for the guard, he stared out through the spaces in the bushes. Under the desk, the redhead unzipped the backpack, retrieving a small flat-screen monitor (which, Vanitas would realize in retrospect, must have cost a fortune and thus couldn't have been bought for the occasion,) a mouse, and a keyboard. She hooked all of these up to the back of the computer, unplugging the cords in the way as she went. Eventually, the girl braved turning on the computer. When her monitor flared to life she grinned.

“Good work, Watson,” Vanitas joked from the window.

Kairi scoffed. “You read Sherlock?”

“I'm British,” was his response.

A sound of amusement rose from her throat at this. “Touche,” she whispered bemusedly, sliding a floppy into the computer's disc drive. They sat in silence for a long while as the welcome screen went to black and the program kicked in. Then, after a while of sitting, it began accessing the school network, loading the Principal's profile. Kairi breathed a sigh of relief.

“Incoming!” Vanitas hissed in a warning, dropping to the floor. Shutting off the monitor, the redhead slid from her seat. A well-placed nudge with her foot put the chair back in front of the desk. Then she joined the blond below the window. They crouched face to face beneath the sill, breathing each others' air, bracing themselves.

For an absolutely terrifying moment a flashlight shone through the room. It started at the door, then made its way to the walls, then the computer. It shone on the chair for a moment, and for a sobering moment in which her obsession compulsion disorder resurfaced, Kairi realized that it had rotated just a bit to the right. Desperately, she hoped the guard didn't notice. Clenching her eyes shut, she silently began to pray. Dear Lord, she thought, I'm only doing this for a boy.

Her thoughts cut off as a finger was placed against her lips. It was then that she realized she had been praying out loud. Eyes shooting open, she meant to lock eyes with Vanitas in a silent apology, only to find him staring at her with wide eyes, his pupils blown out until the irises were nothing more than little slivers of blue. And as his gloved finger moved to smooth over her bottom lip Kairi had a revelation.

Vanitas was thinking about kissing her.

A flush dusted her cheeks, and the girl tried not to think too hard on it as the guard checked the window's lock, the glass rattling in its frame before the beam of light disappeared and the man moved on. They sat there, staring, for another three minutes or so. Then, seeming to steel himself, Vanitas began to inch forward.

Kairi tore away from his gaze, hastily moving the chair aside to get at her monitor. Switching it on, she checked the process. “The program started properly. We've got half an hour until it finishes downloading,” she announced, trying her best to ignore the dejected tone in her accomplice's voice when he spoke next.

“I saw him walking in the hall. If he does his rounds consistently he's going to pass by two more times, then we need to make a break for it.” Shutting off the monitor, Kairi leaned back and sighed, realizing it was going to be a very long half hour. Crouching beneath the desk, she grabbed on to Xion's boots, not quite sure what to do with herself. Then, out of the corner of her eye, she saw Vanitas motioning for her to come to him. “Come over by the wall,” he suggested. “I don't feel like keeping watch.”

Without much of an option, Kairi slipped out from her spot, settled the chair back in its place, and sat beside him. Slowly, she suddenly became aware of everything she shouldn't have noticed about him. First was that he smelled nice – a change from his usual overpowering stench of cigarettes. It was a delicate scent, but still biting and musky. Subtly taking a deep breath disguised as a sigh, the girl tried to identify the sources individually.

Deodorant, sweat, dirt, tree sap, and just a hint of cologne. The last bit wasn't lost on her. Vanitas had actually bothered 'dressing up,' at least in his sense, for a covert operation. (With her.) But there was something else – something she didn't recognize. It was sweet, but sharp, and she most definitely had never smelled anything like it before.

Second was the way his top lip was just as full as the bottom. It was strange, seeing someone with perfectly balanced lips. Usually one or the other was fuller, but here he was, defying the majority in his own subtle way without even trying. The same went for his nose, which was picturesque and just the right dictated size.

His cheekbones were high, eyes large and captivating, and skin perfectly even in tone. Kairi found incredible irony in this. Vanitas was a flawless example of perfection, but no one ever bothered to notice it. His personality simply oozed out of his pores. And no one liked his personality.

Third, he was warm. They weren't even touching and his heat was infecting her. It was the strangest thing.

Fourth was that he couldn't keep his eyes to himself before they flicked to the other side of the room. She began to count how often it happened, and come to a glance every thirty seconds. A nervous habit, then. Kairi tried not to think too hard on this, but after a while she really began to think back. When had Vanitas ever been nervous?

“Are you high?” she asked, not quite believing what she was asking.

He sighed. “I was hoping you wouldn't notice.”

“Why the Hell did you get high before a covert operation?” the girl demanded. “What were you thinking?”

“I don't know! I don't know – I needed to calm down!” Vanitas had turned away from her at this point, clutching his head in his hands in a surprising show of shame.

Scoffing, Kairi tried to resist the lines of barbs and sarcasm that immediately jumped to mind. “What could have you so nervous?” the redhead inquired. “I know you've broken into places before. You don't need to lie to cover your ass.” He mumbled something under his breath. “Come again?”

“You,” he admitted. “You make me nervous. Sometimes it feels like there's something in you that could hurt me.” Kairi shivered, then diverted her gaze to the floor. Foreboding premonition slid through her at his words, but she didn't want to admit it. She didn't quite believe that she could hurt him – or anyone. And at the same time in the last hour she had accumulated enough information to put Vanitas behind bars.

Without warning, he slid his hand into her hair, turned her to face him, and planted a gentle kiss to her lips. The moment seemed to stretch as Kairi was caught between reality and a different, fuzzy world of romance novels and conspiracies. To say she was confused would be an understatement. But then, first kisses are rarely ever expected.

He pulled back, and they were quiet.


	10. Comic Books and Blow Part 2

At the tender age of fifteen Vanitas had dabbled in every form of drug Manchester had to offer – which was a lot. (Though he never touched Meth or anything with needles. He knew what that shit did to people.) His drug of choice was marijuana, but he never smoked it – like cigarettes, it triggered his asthma. No, he preferred to bake it into brownies. Eventually he learned how to function on low doses, and life became an experience. Math tests went from boring to "HOLY SHIT, BATMAN!" Music was that much more enjoyable. Roller coasters were a religious experience.

At the tender age of fifteen Vanitas would come home covered in all sorts of bruises. On some occasions he wouldn't come home at all, having been locked in a trunk in the middle of a random parking lot, only to be discovered two days later by the bomb squad. It was during these times that he was at his most sober, not willing to take the risk of being jumped while he was baked. But one day he was cornered, and had been knifed on an abandoned street while under the influence. He never did learn how he got home.

At the tender age of fifteen, Vanitas had been uprooted from Manchester, England and moved to the enigmatic city that was Portland, Oregon. (His parents had considered Vancouver, Washington. Not a day went by in his teen life that he wasn't well aware of the alternative it had presented. Because, in his opinion, no one in their right mind would choose a bad knock-off of suburbia over Portland.) He was exposed to weekly free-art-gallery day and peace rallies in the park. And after only a week he had been introduced to the drug ring and became a dealer.

At the tender age of fifteen, Vanitas had been forced into a new country with new ideals, and he had no handbook to help him through it. Students at his school first saw him as the "cool transfer kid" but their illusions wore off after seeing that he wasn't ridiculously tall, handsome, chivalrous, or cool. (The height and looks would come a year later, after his nose filled out, face slimmed down, and impressive array of pimples vanished seemingly overnight.)

At the tender age of fifteen, Vanitas walked into his new school with his parents and was given his schedule from what he could only describe as the perfect girl. She said her name was Kairi, and her smile was genuine. Her makeup was perfectly natural, clothes just right, and carried herself with just enough class that over the next two years nothing she did could ever disillusion himself of her. And considering he was in love with her, she did a lot of things wrong.

First, in a long line of things she had done to wrong him (without her knowledge,) she had fallen for Demyx O'Donohue. Just like every other girl in their stupid school, she had fallen for the ridiculously tall swimmer with an overactive personality and the inability to return a girl's feeling. (Just why he never agreed to date them, Vanitas would never know. Until Senior year, that is.) While she was terribly obvious, and was closer to him than anyone, she never came close to his affections, and Vanitas felt they were wasted.

Second, she wore long skirts. The only real relevance to this was that he figured she'd look much better in pants. And he figured they might give her a bit of confidence.

And the rest?

Well, the rest could be forgotten in light of more recent events.

-Visual-Boy-

Lesson Ten: Comic Books and Blow Part 2

-Visual-Boy-

The guard passed by two more times before it was done – just as Vanitas had predicted – and they slipped out the window and into the bushes, forgoing the door in favor of racing to the trees.

It had taken an hour to infiltrate the Principal's office, but only three minutes to leave.

By the time Kairi came back to herself, Vanitas had begun talking at her. “ – then, when I was fifteen, Interpol got me on possession 'cause she had left some Crystal under my bed. This was apparently one of many turning points for my dad since he uprooted the family and moved us here. It was either her or the homeless chap that shanked me. I guess he figured that America would straighten me out better than Military School.”

"When the Hell did I ask for your life story?"

"You didn't."

"Thought so." Groaning, she adjusted her backpack.

“I can take that, if you'd like.”

“I guess that makes you a gentleman,” she hissed.

“No – it just makes sense. I'm stronger than you, and that can't be light.” The reply made Kairi feel just a bit guilty, as the pack was in fact digging uncomfortably into her shoulders. She shook her head "no" anyway. “Whatever floats your boat, I guess,” he conceded after a moment. “But don't go throwing pebbles at my window when you can't move your shoulders tomorrow morning.”

She rolled her eyes. “Deal,” she agreed sarcastically. “As long as you don't go throwing pebbles at mine.”

“No promises – I'm a bit of a romantic,” he admitted, looking her straight in the eye before turning away, and for a startling moment Kairi had been lost. His irises were an abundantly bright blue, with flecks of brown hidden around the edges, and instead of growing to a darker blue around the outer ring they went straight to black.

Kairi pushed away the sudden urge to see him in better lighting. "You're really not who I expected, you know."

Sparing a laugh, he grinned. "Which way?"

"Huh?"

"I am walking you home, right?"

The girl blinked, not quite expecting the answer. Looking both ways, she shrugged. "Left, I guess. My car's just around the corner."

Black eyebrows shot up. "Car, huh? In that case, could I convince you to take me home?"

She laughed. "Well, it is supposed to rain tonight."

Two blocks later they were curled up in their respective seats. "Jesus," Vanitas cursed. "You never can appreciate just how cold it is until you stop moving. What is it out there? Forty degrees?"

"Forty-five," Kairi replied, tugging on Xion's sweater. "I'm kind of glad I'm not wearing that dress any more. Although these shoes are freezing."

The raven-haired boy shrugged. "Overlarge shoes do that. They're good for summer, though."

"I wouldn't doubt it." Turning the key in the ignition, she flipped the heaters on. "Wait until it heats up, but in advance – enjoy."

"Don't mind if I do!" the boy replied, rubbing his arms and shivering. They sat there for a while, not moving, not talking, and definitely not driving. "Umm... aren't we gonna go?"

"Waiting until I can feel my fingers again," the redhead replied, flexing the appendages. "Bad circulation."

"I like you."

Kairi paused, not quite sure what was happening. "Come again?"

"I like you. I really, really like you."

"What brought this on?"

"Well, I figured I wouldn't get another chance to get you alone like this so I figured I'd take a figurative leap and get it out there."

She blinked. "Uh – hello? Earth to Vanitas – I'm not Xion."

"Xion's not my type," he replied simply. "I like birds that dress for the occasion, thanks. All that girl ever bothers with is a shirt, jeans, and combat boots. And she paints everything but her face." Reaching between the seat and the door, he pulled the handle for the back to recline and pushed it all the way down until Kairi had to twist her body to see him. "Don't get me wrong – she's a great friend. I just can't see her as a woman."

Kairi scoffed. "Demyx doesn't seem to think that way. Or Zexion."

"That's because of her charm. Even you aren't completely immune to it."

"And you are?"

He shrugged. "Mum's the same way; carries herself with a level of nobility and shite that over-encompasses everything that seems to be real until nothing is."

Screwing up her face, the redhead scoffed. "That makes no sense."

"It's not supposed to," he replied evenly. "My point is that it's not something anyone's immune to, but depending on who you are you get a different reaction to it. You envy it, Demyx wants it, Zexion admires it, and I think she acts too much like my mum for me to appreciate it."

"In that case, if I look like Xion, and Xion reminds you of your Mom, then why do you like me? Got a little Oedipus thing going on that you don't want anyone knowing about?"

Barking a laugh, the boy suddenly sat up, nearly bashing her face with his in the process. "You really want to know?"

She blinked, not really expecting the question. "Well... guys aren't interested much. I might as well figure out what I'm doing right."

He laughed again, right in her face, before leaning back. "You really are the sweetest little thing to fall from Heaven, you know that?"

"Don't patronize me," she snapped.

"Hey – I'm not kidding. You sit there is some other girl's clothes, and even though you look great, and the color suits you, it's obvious you don't belong in black. You're a goody-two-shoes to the bone. You're honest, sweet, and get along great with pretty much everyone. You wear conservative clothing, your makeup is always flawless, and I swear those jumpers you wear when it gets cold are the cutest things in the world."

"Jumpers?"

"Oh – right. American. 'Jumpers' are 'sweaters.'"

Not quite believing her ears, Kairi tried to figure out just what he was saying. "So... that stuff works for you? The goody-two-shoes thing?"

"At what point did I say it didn't? I'm not an asshole by choice, you know. It's like they say – when in Rome, do as the Romans do."

"But no one wants to be around an asshole."

"My point exactly."

"God – what did they do to you in London?"

He rolled his eyes. "First of all, I'm not from London – I'm from Manchester. Second of all, they did a lot of things. Would you like a detailed list or just the top three offenses?"

"No – I'm good. You don't have to tell me," she replied, trying not to think about what could qualify in the "top three offenses."

There was silence.

"I was locked in a boot, once." Kairi stared at the admission. "In the College's car park."

"A boot?"

"Sorry – trunk. They locked me in a trunk, once."

"Who did?"

"My mates." He paused. "Friends. God – you Americans and your slang."

"That's not slang."

"Whatever. Americans and their American English. Happy?"

"Yes. And they don't sound like very good mates."

Slowly, a smile spread over the raven-haired boys lips. "They weren't," he agreed. "But unlike here, it's standard procedure in England to be an ass hole. The only constant from person to person is the inability to address one's own feelings."

"You don't seem to have that problem," the girl observed.

"I was also getting the living shite kicked out of me on a regular basis," he admitted. "People around here always talk about England as if it's some great and romantic place that's nothing like America, but the fact is that it's the same. If you're not the majority you don't belong.”

“Sounds terrible,” she drawled.

“It's probably not nearly as bad as I'm making it out to be, though,” he admitted. “Retrospect tends to embellish the past.”

They laughed.

Kairi tried to keep her voice from cracking when she said, “Well, I guess that explains why you kissed me earlier.” Blowing on her fingers, she rubbed them together and placed them in front of the vents. “Well, I can feel my fingers, again. Where to?”

-Visual-Boy-

Kairi woke to the sounds of pebbles against her window.

Glancing over to her alarm clock, she groaned softly as she saw that it was seven in the morning. She threw her blankets off, hissing as her feet came into contact with the cold wood floor. As pebble after pebble pelted the glass the girl set about adjusting her pajamas, making her way to the far wall. A glance in the mirror proved her hair to be a mess. A glance down proved that she had forgotten to do her nails the night before, and they were chipped and chewed to within an inch of her life. And with no warning she couldn't put on her makeup.

After tripping over the shoes at the foot of her bed, the redhead finally made it to the curtains, which she pulled aside without hesitation. One last pebble clanked against the window before the sound stopped. Releasing the lock, she slid the pane upward and stuck her head out.

“It's seven in the morning on a Saturday,” she groaned. “Why are you...?” As the situation set in, Kairi trailed off in shock. It wasn't the person that surprised her – Vanitas had proved himself unpredictable by nature, and just because it had been two months since they'd snuck into the school together didn't . No, it was the enormous ten-foot tall pole (which looked very heavy) covered top to bottom in large quantities of brightly colored ribbon that he stood beside that threw her off. Compared to that, what followed – Vanitas leaping on to the side of her house and climbing up the gutter pipe to crawl into her bedroom through the window – was normal. “What is that?”

“It's a May Pole,” he replied.

“But it's April.”

“What – a bloke can't be spontaneous?” he joked, chuckling. At her prolonged look of shock the blond couldn't help a wide grin. “Da' made one for Mum when he was first wooing her.”

“When, in 1970?”

“1968, actually,” he corrected. “As life would have it, I was born six years later.”

“Umm...” Kairi blinked several times in the hope that the ten foot pole in her back yard was just a hallucination. “Sorry to break it to you, but American customs are different from European ones.”

Scoffing, Vanitas leaned against the wall and fixed her with a look. “You think I don't know that? I've only been here for two bloomin' years – I'm very aware.” Thinking better of his placement, he stood up properly, and Kairi couldn't help but marvel momentarily at his posture. “So, aren't you going to invite me in?”

“Huh? Oh – right... Take a seat anywhere, I guess.”

“Kind of ye'.” Waltzing over like he owned the place, Vanitas collapsed onto her bed without much ceremony, patting the space beside him.

It was then that the situation really began to sink in for Kairi. Here she was, in her room alone with a guy. And not just any guy, but the guy with which she had trespassed, broken into public property, hacked into private records, stolen information, and kissed. To top it off, he was the school's drug dealer. To say that he was a bad influence was like saying Hitler was one of millions of political figures in World War II; while it was true it was also a massive understatement.

So when she came out of her thoughts to realize that (according to the clock) they had been making out for the past ten minutes and their shirts were gone Kairi began to worry about the power Vanitas had over her.

-Visual-Boy-

It was another perfectly normal Saturday in the month of April. Vanitas had sneaked in through Kairi's window, and the redhead had rushed to help him in, if only as an excuse to touch him. (Not, as he reminded her shortly after, that she needed one. As if to prove it the two quickly dissolved into long, heady kisses and wandering hands.)

“Oh God,” Vanitas gasped, pulling away from the girl for a desperate gulp of breath. “It's like I can't get enough of you.”

The girl grinned, nuzzling his neck with her nose. “I know what you mean,” she replied, nibbling on his clavicle. Not seconds later her hands began to tug at his shirt hem. Not one to deny himself, the blond tugged it off and leaned in for a deeper kiss, prying her mouth open wide with his tongue and bearing down on her, using his height to his advantage. As one hand held her head at an angle, burying deep into her hair to hold her still for him to ravage, the other went to the buttons of her shirt. Before long he was sliding it off her shoulders, and her bra was soon to follow.

Smoothing a hand over the alert points of the girl's breasts, the boy sighed as she worked at his jeans. Pulling from the kiss, he pushed his laughter away, feeling that it didn't really suit the moment. “Usually I have to persuade you for hours to get this far. Something happen?”

“Nothing in particular,” the redhead replied. “I'm thinking about bleaching my hair, though.”

Vanitas grinned. “Blonde, huh?” Taking firmer hold of her scalp, he forced the girl's head forward until he could lower his face to the strands and take a deep breath. “You do so well as a redhead, though.”

“Fuck red,” the girl hissed, much to the boy's surprise. “Red is just so... Kairi.” She groaned, oblivious to the expression of utter shock on the boy's face.

“Huh?”

“She's such a downer, you know,” the girl drawled, ignoring his panic. “But then, you are, too.”

“What the hell?”

“Oh – she didn't tell you?” She laughed, tapping her forehead. “She's not the only one up here-but don't worry. Your little girlfriend's fine – took her drugs and everything. She's just mulling over some things she learned today.” Humming a single note, the girl raked her eyes along the taller boy's form. “About you, coincidentally.” She grinned, taking hold of his pants and dragging him to the bed. And despite all his posturing and the like during the day, all his bragging and feats, he was powerless to stop her. “Did you really lose your virginity at thirteen?”

They fell onto the bed, one on top of the other, the girl between his spread knees and pressing her shin to his groin. “She's-” He gulped and cleared his throat, finding it difficult to concentrate. “She's worried about something like that?”

Her grin spread. “Of course! This is Kairi we're talking about. You know – Worrywart of the century. Little Miss Virgin.” She laughed – a sarcastic, eager sound that rang hollow in Ventus' ears. “Then again, you took care of that, didn't you?” Sliding her shin harder against him, the girl drank in the small whimper that slipped from his lips. “Speaking of sex, I should probably thank you for that. What do you think? Up for a bit of the naughty?”

Ventus was quiet for a long time before speaking. “What's your name?”

She hummed to herself. “Naminé,” she purred.

“Does she know what we're doing?”

“We're all alone,” she replied, leaning forward to nip at his chin. “Nothing to fear.”

His lips twitched. “Gotcha.” Leaning back, he slapped the girl across the cheek, then took a moment to savor the shock on her face.

“The fuck?” she spat, cradling the reddening cheek with a hand.

“You're not Kairi, and you'll never be Kairi, so back the fuck off.” He slid off the bed, reaching for his discarded shirt and sliding it on.

Jumping off the bed after him, the girl roughly grabbed his shoulder and wheeled him to face her. “Like it or not, I am Kairi – at least in body. Besides, do you really think you're good enough for her? Face it – I'm more your type, and I'm more likely to stick around after her bad-boy phase passes.”

“I'll take my chances with the goodie-two-shoes,” he snapped, wrenching his shoulder from her grip. “I actually like her.”

Naminé scoffed, burying a hand in her hair. “What? So I'm not good enough for you?”

Shaking his head, the boy bit back a sigh. “Well, you're not Kairi, so...” He trailed off, almost as if taking his own words into account. “Yeah.”

He sting of her hand across his face was becoming an increasingly familiar one.


	11. Down for the Count

Kairi was not surprised the day she was diagnosed with multiple-personality disorder. She had been surprised shortly after her fifth birthday; the day she woke up covered in pig's blood. She had been surprised just before her trip to sea world at seven, when she found a cornucopia of stolen pornography stashed beneath her mattress. She had been surprised when, at nine years old, she had managed to somehow convince a Pimp that she was twelve and “on the market” while her parents were at a friend's house.

Shortly after the discovery she had been drugged up, and her parents uprooted the family and moved them to Portland.

Naminé didn't make too many impromptu appearances after that.

-Visual-Boy-

Lesson Eleven: Down for the Count

-Visual-Boy-

There they sat, the two of them completely clueless as to what they should say next. Then again, what were you supposed to say to your best friend – your gay best friend – who just had his boyfriend sleep over?

“Did you do it?” Demyx figured being blunt was the best option.

Zexion shook his head. “No.”

Screwing up his face, the blond chanced a curious look at the shorter boy. “But I thought you were ready.”

“I am ready – and he is too.”

“Then what gives? Did your mom find the loose board and raid your stash or something?”

A short pause followed, in which the blue-haired boy shook his head and heaved a slow sigh. “The condoms were expired.”

Silence followed the words. A tense silence that sent alarms flaring in Demyx's head. “Condoms can't expire. They're, like, latex or something. Food expires, not condoms.”

“Condoms can expire, Demyx. Look.” Then Zexion was reaching beneath the loose floorboard, fishing out the little foil packet to throw at the blond, who sadly caught the projectile instead of allowing it to pelt him in the face. “It's on the back,” he deadpanned when the other teen stared at the smiley face on the front with something akin to surprise and disgust for five minutes.

Silence.

“That's seriously an expiration date.”

“Yup.”

“This condom expired more than three years ago!”

“You think I didn't notice?”

“But – three years!”

“I kind of found it when I was ten, so yeah! They expired three years ago! Can we talk about something else, now?”

“You're still a virgin!”

“Well so are you!”

“Yeah, but I have herpes so I don't count.”

Throwing himself into the bed in exasperation, burying his face in a pillow, Zexion groaned as loud as his lungs would let him.

They were quiet for a long time before Demyx spoke. “I don't think we should go through with it.”

“Go through with what?” Zexion asked through the pillow.

“The posters.”

Raising his head from the pillow, Zexion scoffed. “I was waiting for you to come to your senses. Must be that lack of meat to your brain – nothing quite gets through.”

“Huh?”

“We were all secretly holding bets as to when you'd give out – aside from Vanitas, anyway. He doesn't bet if he can avoid it. But yeah – we didn't just break and enter; we broke a few amendments. Kairi figured you wouldn't last two hours.”

“Since when do you talk to Kairi?”

“Since when do you hang out with losers?”

“Touche – but seriously. Bets?”

“You made yourself fair game,” the shorter boy replied, standing and making his way over to his music collection. “It would be a crime to not take advantage of it.”

“Oh...” The blond joined his friend by the shelf, staring at the selections available to them. Cassette after cassette, CD after CD – for a moment he forgot he wasn't in a music store. “So who had bets on what?”

Shrugging, Zexion turned on his heel and made his way to the loose floorboard, opening it up to reveal a new addition – a slip of paper. He reached in, removing it before closing the board carefully. “So far,” he mused quietly, unfolding the small sheet of paper, “Kairi had dibs on tonight, just so you know, so she gets the pot. Lexaeus figured you would give up outside the school, and Xion bet you would freak out when you got hold of the stapler.”

Blinking in surprise, the blond couldn't help but think his options over. “You guys really have me pegged, don't you?”

“I bet that you would chicken out after we were done, and proceed to turn us all in the moment a teacher walked by.”

Demyx huffed. “Jeez – thanks for the vote of confidence, dick.”

Zexion shrugged. “What? It seemed like something you would do.”

“Dick.”

“Mom made some cookies. Want some?”

“You're still a dick.”

“Also, I found a used copy of Hackers at the pawn shop. Wanna watch?”

A long silence followed. “Okay, you're not a dick.”

“I aim to please,” the periwinkle-haired boy stated amusedly.

-Visual-Boy-

The weather finally seemed to be warming up. April had gone out like a sleepy lion, and May had come in with upper forties and a drizzle. But on the fifth, a Monday, morning had dawned with blue skies over certain parts of the Vancouver-Portland Metro area, and Demyx was a happy camper.

For the first time in a long while, he walked to school without his mother's umbrella. (Which she had forced on him again when the rainy season started.) He passed exactly three old ladies on his way to school – all of which he waved to jovially, and they waved back. His shoelaces didn't come undone once on his way, either. And when he passed a kitten on the side of the road it came right up to him and nuzzled his ankle. (He spent about five minutes crouched by the little ball of fluff.)

When he arrived at school, he joined it usual group – or, usual six months prior – without a hitch. He was welcomed in without any strange questions. (Although Seifer was strangely absent.) Yes; it was a good day for Demyx. A very good day. There were no pop quizzes, he wasn't called upon in class, and everything generally went about without a single hitch to be found.

So when Zexion came into the pool after swim practice, escorted by a very surly-looking Riku, it didn't occur to Demyx that something was wrong. Abandoning his laps, he swam over to the side of the pool. “Zexion – hey! What's up?” Pausing at the edge of the concrete, he put his arms on the side and looked up at the two teens. “Do you smell vegetable oil?”

“Yeah,” the shorter boy snapped. “I do.”

“Okay...” He paused. “So what's up?”

“I just broke into your locker to get him out – that's what,” Riku seethed, voice clipped.

Turning to the periwinkle-haired boy, Demyx took him in. After a second it occurred to him why Riku was so angry. Disheveled hair, rumpled clothes, oil stains, a small puddle of oil at his feet, oil in his hair, missing a shoe, swelling left cheek, swelling left eye, cut on his left arm, clutching his ribs, pants ripped at the knee – Zexion was a sight to behold.

“I don't know what's going on with you guys,” Riku announced, “and frankly, I don't care. But if your little popularity dispute crosses over into those locker rooms again, I'm going to have to tell the coach. And trust me – she will care. She will intervene. And we all know what happens when adults intervene.

“I don't want to have to be the one who gets you kicked out. You're a great swimmer, Demyx – you're an asset to the team. So either lightly kick the asses of those fucktards who put him there and settle this stupid dispute, or whatever it is, or check your speedo in with the coach.” After finishing his tirade, Riku stormed straight over to the door to the lockers and left them alone. A long silence passed between the two remaining boys as the sound of metal slamming shut bounced through the room.

Heaving himself out of the water, Demyx sighed. “So, whose ass do I need to lightly kick?”

Zexion shrugged. “Kid with an eye patch and gray hair.”

The blond swore. “Xigbar.” He swore again, running a hand through his wet hair. “This could cause some serious issues.”

Blinking, the shorter boy stepped forward to take a seat on Demyx's right. “What do you mean?”

“Team dynamic,” the taller boy began simply. “Xigbar's on the relay for the regional competition coming up. If he really wants to get back at me he'll stop dead in the water. And seeing as he's taking this into the locker rooms, that's a good possibility.”

“What happens if he stops? You know – dead in the water.”

“We lose big time,” Demyx deadpanned, “and I can kiss my scholarship goodbye.”

“But aren't those sort of things determined by individual effort?”

The blond shrugged. “I don't know, to tell the truth. There isn't much I know about scholarships. I only have this one because they dangled it in front of me Sophomore year.”

“What would you do with it?”

Demyx blinked. “With what?”

“The scholarship, stupid. Have you decided what you're going to be?”

The question was not one Demyx expected. Usually people would marvel over the fact that he had managed to get a scholarship in the first place. And upon realizing this, the blond was baffled. Why hadn't anyone asked him before? “It... hadn't really occurred to me.”

“Really?” Zexion scoffed. “I'd think it was elementary.”

Rolling his eyes, Demyx fought the urge to laugh. “Alright then, Mr. Corazza – what are you going to do after high school?”

He shrugged. “Become a novelist, of course.”

Demyx stared. “You're going to what now?”

“My mom's an editor for Random House. She got a hold of one of my notebooks the other day, edited it seriously, gave me feedback, and boom – a letter from Random House in our mailbox addressed to me. Two days ago she sat me down and walked me through the ins and outs of publishing.”

“Notebooks? You write?”

“Yeah, I write.”

“Why didn't you tell me about it?”

Zexion shrugged. “You never asked.”

“I'm asking now. What do you write about?”

“The life of a garden slug.” Silence. “You'd very surprised what happens to a slug during its everyday life.”

“So...” Demyx fought back a grimace. “You write about animals?”

“Not really – just gastropods.”

“Ah...” The taller boy didn't really have anything to say to this. “Well, that's, uh – that's interesting. That's cool. I guess.”

Fixing his friend with a scathing look, Zexion raised an eyebrow at the boy's tone. “Go ahead; say it's lame. I don't mind.”

Demyx knew better than to make that mistake. “So, you're going to become a... a gastropod specialist. Cool. That's cool. I always pegged you for the scientist type.”

“No, you didn't.”

“Yeah, I didn't...”

Zexion sighed, leaned forward a bit, and stood. “Look – we should be focusing on the task at hand. You know; kicking Xigbar's ass.”

“Lightly,” Demyx added. “If I kick it too hard we'll be one short for the rotation.”

The shorter boy snickered, then winced. Placing a hand gingerly on his ribs, he ground out, “So, any ideas?”

“Just one.”

-Visual-Boy-

Lying in wait to jump a member of his swimming team was not something Demyx thought he would ever do. It wasn't because he was a nice guy, or that he was a pacifist, or even because he just didn't do things like that. The thought had literally never crossed his mind. But there he was, first thing Wednesday morning (May 7th, 1997; the weather was brisk) sitting in wait for Xigbar to walk through the front doors of the school.

To say he was uneasy was an understatement.

“What do we do if he fights back?” he signed to Vanitas, who sat beside him playing with a safety pin.

“Then we fight, too.” It was a simple answer; one that worried the taller boy.

“What if a teacher walks by?”

“We'll deal with that when it comes to it.”

Out loud, Demyx asked, “What's 'overpower?'”

Vanitas demonstrated, but almost immediately regretted it when the blond continued to sign.

“What if we can't overpower him?”

At this question Vanitas fixed Demyx with a perplexed look, glanced pointedly at Lexaeus on their right, turned back to the blond, and raised on dyed-black eyebrow in skepticism. “I'm pretty sure we can take him.”

“What if he doesn't follow you?”

“I have it covered, so stop worrying!”

“And if he has friends?”

The shorter boy sighed, running one hand through his hair. “Get over it, Demyx,” he groaned quietly. “This is going to happen.”

Demyx whinged quietly, a look of horror plain on his face.

“He's coming,” Lexaeus signed quickly.

Shooting up from their seats, the two taller boys stretched quickly, then raced off down the halls, leaving Vanitas by the door to ease himself up slowly. Before long, Xigbar stepped through the front doors and Vanitas approached him. “Hey,” he greeted.

Xigbar sneered. “What do you want, fag?”

“Haha, very funny,” Vanitas drawled. “I got a new shipment in. You wanna take a peek?”

The taller boy's sneer turned wry. “Where's it from?”

“Canada,” the ravenhaired boy informed him, taking a few steps further into the hall. “Just got it in today.

Xigbar whistled quietly, following at a leisurely pace as Vanitas made his way toward the locker rooms. “Some good shit, then,” he whispered. “How much?”

“The usual. Guy gave me a good deal.”

“Nothing fishy?”

Pushing open the locker room door, Vanitas waved the boy inside. “Not any fishier than usual.”

Once the door slammed shut behind them, Lexaeus was there. Taking Xigbar by his shirt, he shook him a few times, then slammed him into a locker.

“Interesting to have the tables turned, huh?” the ravenhaired boy commented when their captive realized what was going on.

“What the – Lexaeus? What are you doing here?” Xigbar gasped, fighting off panic.

“Umm – hello? You beat the living shit out of his boyfriend. Why wouldn't he be here?”

“Boyfriend? What the...” It then seemed to register when Demyx came forward from where he'd been hiding in the showers. “This is about Zexion?”

The blond cold only nod in affirmation.

“I didn't – I didn't beat the living shit out of him. I just roughed him up a bit!”

“Roughing him up?” Vanitas laughed; the same cold, dark sounding laugh Demyx had heard when he first met the boy. “You cracked his rib, dumbass.”

“Yeah, and to be honest I wouldn't have done it if I'd known he was going out with Lexaeus!” Xigbar squeaked the last part, staring down at the football player with a mix of fear and... well, fear.

“So they weren't connected, then,” Lexaeus mumbled, almost too quiet for Demyx to hear. Without warning, he dropped the boy. “We were going to stuff you in a locker,” the tallest boy began, “but I don't want to do that. Just know that if you ever touch him again, the results won't be pleasant.”

The boy on the floor sputtered. “And this was?”

“Compared to what I'll do to you, yes.” And with that the teen left, followed shortly by Demyx.

Silence fell.

Vanitas cleared his throat. “I have the shipment, if you're still interested.”

-Visual-Boy-

Lunchtime approached as it usually did, with loud teens and equally loud school bells.

People filed into the room ten at a time, it seemed, and it looked like a progression of zombies to one Lexaeus Boat. He took his seat quickly, watching the room fill with students. Seifer sat next to him before long, poking him in the side. He ignored the shorter teen, eyes fixed instead on the doors. Kairi sat across from him. Still, his eyes did not move.

When Zexion walked in, his gaze traveled with the shorter boy until he got to his table, pulling out his home-packed lunch. Taking a deep breath, he braced himself for what he was about to do.

After a while, he stopped pushing around his food, grabbed his tray, and stood, making his way across the room to where Zexion sat. He'd thought about Xigbar's words that morning, and had made a decision that he hoped the others wouldn't have a problem with.

The entire table saw him coming, and none of them looked more confused than his boyfriend, who stared at him with a subtle blush and open bafflement. He could feel the eyes of dozens on him, so when he leaned down to plant a kiss on the boy, smack dab in the middle of lunch, he was prepared for the room to go just a bit quieter.

But nothing seemed to change. No one went quiet, and there were no large quantities of whispers.

Lexaeus took a seat beside the periwinkle-haired boy, throwing an arm around his waist and grinning big.

For once, it seemed like everything would be alright.


	12. Silent as the Grave

After Demyx had been born, it had never occurred to Wisteria to marry. Nor did she entertain thoughts of having another child. No – the woman was very aware of the population problem, and had vowed earlier in life to never have children. Then why, you may be asking, did she have Demyx in the first place? Well, the answer is actually very simple.

Demyx was the result of a broken condom. One she liked to describe as, “The best and most enlightening mistake I ever made.”

This was way, way back in 1978 – a year of glassy-eyed decisions and not-so-glassy-eyed consequences. Consequences, one might note, that usually came full circle nine months later, tearing apart a vagina and roaring a great battle cry. All the while covered in another person's blood.

And that, dear readers, is childbirth from a Spartan's point of view.

Back on topic, in a show of genius to rival Thomas Edison, Wisteria was not on morphine when she had Demyx. Instead she had a meeting with Mary Jane (1) the moment she dilated five centimeters. And in an attempt to be a reasonable, responsible adult afterward, she never touched the brownies again.

And if the reader has not discovered this, let it be known that things concerning Demyx are usually very strange.

-Visual-Boy-

Lesson Twelve: Best Friends

-Visual-Boy-

“So, you're moving.” Stretching his legs across the mattress, Demyx tried not to heave a heavy, desperate sigh. “Did you see that coming?”

Zexion shrugged. “Kind of,” he admitted. “If this were a novel I'd say we had proper foreshadowing.”

“Foreshadowing?” The blond scoffed, not bothering to hide his amusement. “Please – do tell.”

With a blink the shorter boy looked up at his friend from the floor, then shifted his gaze back to the ceiling, which had been stripped of its posters, drawings, charts, and bumper stickers. Yes, ladies and gentlemen, his room – once so graphic and full of life – resembled a hospital. And Zexion, being the nerd that he was, found it to be a depressingly appropriate metaphor for his life. “Well, first off there was your whole 'funny lips' thing-”

“Hey, I didn't come up with that name.”

“But it was hauntingly appropriate. Moving on, you were popular. That right there is a recipe for disaster. You were friends with the best gossips in the school. Would you like me to go on?”

Demyx rolled his eyes. “Please, do,” he waxed sarcastic.

Zexion didn't get the hint. “Then you got Laryngitis and we started hanging out. Another contradiction to society that is an aforementioned recipe for disaster. After that you invited Kairi in who, while being the sweetest person I have ever met, has a tendency to mouth-spew bits of information at the most inconvenient times.” The blond could only nod along with this, though he momentarily mulled over the word, “mouth-spew,” and decided that he would use it at the soonest possible convenience.

Please note, ladies and gentleman, that he would forget it before the end of the conversation.

“There was the whole 'plan' thing, too. We 'invisible' kids, as some like to call us, have a tendency to avoid drawing attention to ourselves, and for a good reason – with the exception of Vanitas, of course. The plan would have made us look like normal people, if only for a week. After that was Lexaeus, which was a terrible–”

“That's your boyfriend you're talking about.”

“– idea. And I know that, you little shit, I'm just saying that him joining the ASL club was one of the turning points.” Glancing over to his friend, who had remained half-collapsed over the side of the bed and was fixing him with one of the strangest looks of contempt he'd ever had the misfortune of receiving, the pewter-haired boy squashed the sudden urge to throw his hands up in exasperation. “And while it was a very... pleasant turning point, it was still a turning point and is thus vulnerable to scrutiny. Moving on, we have the plan again. Our predicament now could be Karma.”

Silence.

“Karma?”

“Yes.”

“That's the best you can come up with?”

“Were you not listening? There was foreshadowing and everything.”

“This isn't some novel!”

“Who's to say it isn't?” Zexion retorted. “For all you know someone out there is playing God, and we're figments of their vastly inadequate imagination.”

Demyx's face screwed up. “Inadequate?” he questioned, not enjoying the concept that he was even smaller insignificant speck on the face of the proportionately tiny M-class planet than he already was.

“We're in High School, Demyx, and everyone around us has a clusterfuck of problems. It doesn't take much imagination to think up a story in that setting.” Giving into the urge to sigh, the boy ran a nervous hand through his hair, brushing his fringe behind his ear where it wouldn't tickle his cheek. “My point is that... I don't know any more. I lost track. Something along the lines of living creatively without adding strangers to the mix. They can fuck things over quick.”

They took the following few minutes to bask in the usual lapse in noise they had between topics.

In a fit of his usual spontaneity, Demyx inquired, “So who's the main character?”

Zexion giggled. “What?” All of a sudden, the pewter-haired boy felt just a touch high.

“Who's the main character of this story you're convinced we live in?” This was received with laughter and a grin. “No, I'm interested.”

“You are ridiculous. We are not having this conversation.” The shorter boy giggled again.

“Is it Vanitas? Or maybe Xion? Maybe Lexaeus, since he got laid-”

Blush staining his cheeks, Zexion shot into a seated position. “Demyx,” he squeaked, more than a little embarrassed.

“Or maybe it's you-”

“Demyx.”

“Hear me out here. You're the gay kid in school, and have never found a kindred spirit. However, when you make friends with a dashing boy on the swim team, who introduces you to a gay guy on the football team, your life is irrevocably changed-”

“Demyx.”

“ – and from there your budding relationship flowers in the shadow of the secrets you keep. Eventually the two of you are revealed, and you have to move because of the looming dangers of your peers, which brings us to present day. In this reality, instead of abandoning each other you decide to exchange letters. For years you write each other, until you finally meet again in college, during which you both take a weekend trip to Canada, say your nuptials, and continue your lives as blissful newlyweds. Eventually you'll start to fight, but your marriage will be Canadian so you won't know how to get a divorce, making it automatically awesome, and – why are you looking at me like that?”

Zexion sighed. “You have no clue what you're saying, do you?”

“Most of the time? Yes, a clue usually comes with the territory. What I just said? Not so much.”

It was a long time before Zexion said, “I think you're the main character.” At this the blond shot up to stare at the shorter boy, not quite believing what was coming out of his mouth. “I just – I don't know why. You seem like main character material, is all.”

Not quite sure how to reply, Demyx settled with, “Thanks.” And then, after another few hours of laying on their respective bits of floor and mattress, sulking and staring at the blank, blank, oh so blank ceiling that managed to just sit there and display the metaphor of their lives before them like a blank canvas, he asked the fateful question. “What do you recon was the exact moment we were doomed to fail?”

The pewter-haired boy scoffed. “'Spoon Language' comes to mind.”

Despite himself, Demyx smiled. “Sounds about right.” Stealing a glance at his friend's blank face – an expression he saw far too often for his liking – he resisted the urge to jump from the bed and bundle the teen in his arms. But guys just didn't do that. And while the blond had thrown out every major social convention on his journey to nowhere in particular, he couldn't bring himself to toss out his gender-restrictions. They were one of the few things he was sure of at that point. “It was worth it, though.” He paused. “You're worth it.” Much to the blond's joy, pale lips quirked into a small, almost indiscernible smile. And, much to his surprise, Zexion replied.

“You are, too.”

“Speaking of which, that book-”

“We are not going to keep talking about this.”

“I'm thinking it would be a bit of a cross between Schindler's List, War of the Worlds, and Little House on the Prairie. Thoughts?”

“None.”

“It would dominate the New York Times Bestsellers List, easy. The true story of a boy who got fucked by life! Literally! And there'd be a running gag about a personification of Life shoving his fingers up his ass or something whenever something went horribly wrong. You know – like Life is fucking him over.”

“That's morbid.”

“Oh! Oh! And then there would be a happy ending epilogue about the main character's sidekick – you – because that would be absolutely necessary. And they'd call it, 'A Half-Decent Love Story,' and it would be about your relationship with Lexaeus.”

“You can shut up, now.”

“Then it would receive all sorts of awards, and the title would be up on billboards everywhere with the cover art tastefully angled behind it.”

“Yeah – and they'd call it, 'Hitler's Guide to the Galaxy.' Now go to sleep!”

Demyx hummed at this. “Nah – you strike me more as a 'Visual Boy' type of guy.”

Zexion rolled his eyes at this. “So I'm the main character, now?”

“There's no way I'm gonna start calling myself Hitler so get used to it, Visual Boy.”

“Go the fuck to sleep.”

“Sweet dreams, Zexion.”

-Visual-Boy-

The day had started like any other day. Specifically with a sunrise and people waking up to their ungodly alarms, only to roll over, break the alarm, and wake up ten minutes later to realize that they would, in fact, have to buy another alarm clock. Again. (Though this was, admittedly, a very small population concentrated in Japan, which has little to nothing to do with this story.) And like any other day the interactions of these people, once they were properly conscious, changed to something a bit more pleasant. It was then that the usual things occurred: school, work, daycare, house work, and the like. The mundane detritus of life culminated on the dashboard of society without so much as a twitch.

Moving on, it was bright, sunny, and the birds were chirping when Demyx and Zexion walked in through the front doors on Zexion's last day. There was the usual bustle of the morning; of teenagers trying to get through. People were pushing, pulling, and altogether forcing others out of their way in an attempt to reach where they were going. Voices were raised; elbows were shoved. On their left was a shout, and suddenly a cup of something was flying their way. The two were splattered with the stuff, not having gotten out of the way in time.

Demyx tried to laugh it off at first, but was surprised to find his throat closing up and his vision blurring with tears.

He was on his floor; he didn't know how he got there, but he was. Grasping desperately for the straps of his backpack, the boy became aware that somehow it had fallen off. His fingers started to shake horribly, and for a moment he was lost, but then someone's hands brushed against his. No – not hands, they were too hard to be hands. Too thin. But they guided him to his bag, so he didn't think long on it as he tore into one of the side pockets. Then, in a motion his mother had made him practice thousands of times, he pulled out his Epipen, jammed it into his left arm, and hoped to God that someone had thought to call a teacher.

The blond's vision slowly faded to black, as did the world. But before everything was lost, he managed to make out the invasive scent of peanut oil, and a dark figure in the corner, seemingly made from bones, looking on in curiosity.

-Visual-Boy-

It was hours before the blond awoke, and by then he was faced with white walls and a white ceiling. Staring at the clock, which told him that school was long over, he sighed.

Well, I guess I don't have to worry about that Math test, he thought to himself.

The boy sat in silence for a long time, waiting for someone to come into the room. Someone who wasn't the skeleton in the corner. Its presence surprised the blond. One would expect a little less morbid humor from a hospital. And the eyes had not been a nice touch, no matter what anyone might think. He would have preferred to be staring into empty sockets.

Rising from its crouch, its bones clanking against each other with every other movement beneath its cloak, the figure of Life made its way to the door. Shocked, Demyx didn't speak as it passed right through the wall. He made to call out to the creature, convinced that it was nothing more than a very good costume, but found his mouth limp. His tongue refused to work.

He tried again, but nothing happened.

Turning to his side, he jammed his finger into the only familiar thing in the room; a nurse assist button. Before long a woman entered, all smiles, and when he attempted to speak, jaw flapping uselessly, her grin dropped.

Not an hour later his mother was there. Along with Lexaeus, much to the blond's relief, who his mother had apparently promised to bring along. A Doctor stood beside them, all professionalism and perfect posture. “This happens in some cases,” the man drawled in an even tone. “The lack of oxygen to the brain causes the cells in the brain to die. Sometimes the victim can remain comatose, or lose control of a part of their body. In this case, the part of his brain that controlled his speech were starved.” Holding up a few X-rays for demonstration, he circled the boy's skull with his pencil – which Demyx felt was entirely unnecessary.

Meanwhile, the world around Demyx seemed to fall apart.

His mother went to his side, taking him into her arms. “Honey, are you okay?”

Then, in a show of habit, he signed, “I don't know.”

“He said he doesn't know.” The deep voice caught them all off guard, and everyone – the nurse, Wisteria, and the doctor – turned to stare at the boy who had remained silent until that moment.

And all of a sudden Demyx didn't feel so alone.

Never before had he been so grateful for having met Zexion.

-Visual-Boy-

The next day Demyx found himself shocked awake by very tiny hands taking hold of his nose. Startling awake, he fought the urge to smile as big blue eyes stared him down.

“Sorry about that!” a feminine voice cried from his side. “He's a little uppity today.”

Demyx, taking stock of the toddler on his chest, didn't bother hiding his grin, then. He flapped his mouth a few times, throat working, forgetting momentarily that he couldn't speak.

“Wow – you really can't talk! Deja-vu, huh?” the girl continued.

Looking up from the baby, who was shortly snatched from his stomach, the boy locked eyes with Xion as he sat up. She was flanked by none other than Luxord, who wiggled a finger at the toddler. “I take it that's Sora,” Demyx signed. She grinned.

“One and the same,” the girl agreed before looking down and cooing at the child. It sputtered a laugh in reply.

“Are you feeling alright?” Vanitas, who sat on the blond's left, shuffled when the bedridden teen's gaze turned on him. The rebel's blond roots had been hidden under a Trail Blazers cap. Kairi sat at his side, appearing a bit distraught, but not too bad. In the corner, Lexaeus stood as if he were keeping guard: back ramrod straight, feet apart, face stoney.

“I guess. Although whoever allowed a truck to run over my body while I was asleep is going to get an eyeful.” There were two short laughs at this, from Vanitas and Xion. (It was becoming increasingly obvious that Luxord didn't know sign language.) “But enough about me – why are you all here? Shouldn't someone be with Zexion?” Silence met his comment.

Then no one would meet his eyes.

He waited.

Finally, after what seemed to be an eternity, the one to speak was Lexaeus. “Zexion didn't make it.”

-Visual-Boy-

After the assembly, the one they had whenever a student or faculty member died, Demyx expected a wide berth. It wasn't because he was instantly famous – he needed no help with that. It wasn't because he was suddenly untouchable – that couldn't be more wrong. It was because he was on the war path. And nothing would stand in the way of him and his third class.

So when Seifer came up to him, took hold of his shoulder and said, "We need to talk," it was a miracle he didn't punch the guy right then and there. Instead, he calmly turned to the boy and bit back what emotion he could.

Turning, he glared at the boy sharply, hoping the shorter blond would get the message to back off.

"Not here," Seifer hissed, glancing around them at the students passed by without a care. "Somewhere else. Private."

Again, the blond was silent.

"What? I really can't."

Demyx swatted the hand away.

Seifer flinched at this, though he looked reasonably confused. "Look – I know this isn't the time, but Zexion deserved what he got."

The shorter boy didn't have the time to react to the fist aimed his way.


	13. Goodbye

Demyx is not a fighter. He is a lover and a dreamer and a pumpkin-pie-eater. Occasionally he is a poet or a musician. He had attended peace rallies with his mother since a young age, and would gladly share anything he owned with anyone. As a teenager half of his shirts were tie-dye. He was, and remains to this day, a pacifist. In no way could he ever hurt anyone.

Thankfully, Seifer wasn't just anyone.

A loose crowd had gathered around the two, waiting for a fight to break out after the first punch had landed. Seifer looked up from the floor, where he'd fallen after the surprisingly jarring blow. He was beyond confused at that point. Nothing was making sense. The world had set itself on his shoulders, and at that moment he was the only one who was sane. His best friend had betrayed him. His other friends would not join his flank. For once in his life, Seifer had no backup and was facing a world of things he'd been raised to think were immoral and cheap.

And yet, from the other side of the circle everything looked so different. Because to Demyx it was as if his old friend was the personification of every evil that ever existed. Every problem. Every error. Every wrong turn and every kind of bad that could be represented – through luck, through fate, and through coincidence.

Then again, the poster on his left – much like the one he was going to post about everyone else – with his face and the words “Oral Herpes” didn't leave much to be desired.

But then, both of them were teenagers. Eventually they would realize that the other simply represented a different way of life, but until then the two would live their lives in their small little worlds, convinced they were in the right. And they were, in their own senses. For now, we shall take it from Demyx's point of view in an attempt to fully appreciate the story at hand.

In the movies it would have been the climax – the scene where the main character would blurt out the truth of what the antagonist was doing. That they were bigoted and closed minded and wrong. Their words would inspire the people around them, inspire change and love. Music would swell in the background, his true friends would see him at his finest hour.

That is not what happened.

None of his friends were there to witness the circle. He was alone, with the only ones paying witness to the event being anonymous classmates. Standing in silence, he stared down at his old friend, for a moment wishing he could go back to his old life. No words sprung to his lips despite all that was running through his head. Many would have been perfect in the movies, such as, “So is Hayner nothing to you?” or “Being straight doesn't make you a good person – being a good person makes you a good person.” But having seen the type of person Seifer was he knew his words would be wasted. Besides- for all intents and purposes, he couldn't talk in the first place. So, with nothing else to do, he turned around and walked away.

The crowd parted. Not in any kind of respect, but for fear of touching the Kid with Herpes.

In the Hero Cycle this moment is defined as the fall – when our Hero has reached the lowest point. For Hercules it was when Hera struck him mad and he killed his wife, Megara, and their children. For Demyx it was the exact moment when he brushed up against someone in the crowd and they flinched away, just after Seifer had walked up as the avatar of his old life to reject him. His best friend was gone, the ASL club had fallen to pieces, and it probably wouldn't be long before everyone knew about his skeletons. All his life Demyx had fought to be popular, but in a matter of nine months he had made himself untouchable.

Maybe one day the girl who flinched away will think of the boy with Herpes. She will be a new woman in a new world, after all, and an open mind will be required should she wish to excel. And yet the women of the new age have a new kind of open-mindedness that requires a bit of closed thinking. That, you see, is the downside of advancement; much is forgotten.

-Visual-Boy-

Lesson Thirteen: Goodbye

-Visual-Boy-

The funeral was a small affair. Open coffin, with a ASL translator off to the left. There were maybe ten people there, total: Xion, Luxord, Lexaeus, Demyx, and Zexion's mother included. The woman in question sobbed silently in the back, clinging to the side of a man everyone assumed to be her ex-husband. It was a sad place to be. But to the surprise of everyone there she was able to pull it together long enough to step up to the pedastal and sign a few words.

The sendoff was very Christian, Demyx noted. It was at that moment that he realized that he never asked Zexion what he believed in. And, dear reader, he was ashamed. Ashamed that he had never thought to ask. And if he had, he was ashamed that he didn't remember.

For a while, he thought it was his fault.

Demyx skipped school for a few days after the funeral, not quite sure that he could keep himself together.

-Visual-Boy-

“Demyx,” Wisteria called quietly, knocking on the boy's door, “you have a guest!” There was no response. Nor was there likely to be one.

Cracking open the door, the woman usshered for Seifer to enter the room, where he proceeded to shift from foot to foot nervously as the taller boy stared him down. “Hey,” he greeted.

Demyx noded.

“Kairi told me what happened,” he began. “The club, the posters, the hospital – all of it.” Taking in Demyx's limp form beneath several blankets, Seifer cleared his throat. “She said you forgot how to talk.”

“Yes,” the taller blond signed, knowing the other boy couldn't understand him. “I did.”

“Umm...” Seifer blinked, then coughed nervously into his hand. Taking a few steps forward, the took a seat at the edge of the bed. “I need to apologize for what I said. I was out of line.”

Demyx continued staring.

“Right, umm... Sorry. I just... I don't know what I was thinking, really. I guess I was jealous of Zexion for being able to be himself, and then allowing him to get taken from him – not that he let them throw that oil at you guys, but still.” He sighed. “What I'm trying to say is, I hope you can forgive me for lying, I guess. See, I'm...” Choking, the blond at the end of the bed swallowed hard, then ground out, “I'm gay.”

The silent boy resisted the urge to throttle his old friend at the admission. Why didn't you say so sooner? he thought. Why not join us while you had the chance?

“You were right when you said I should trust you, I guess, but then my secret would be out, too, and I might have wound up like Zexion. Or you. And, no offense, but that's the last place I want to be right now.”

Rising from his sheets, Demyx made his way over to his desk. There he snagged a pencil and paper, and wrote, “Do you know who did it?” Holding the sheet up for the scarred teen to see, he bit his lip and willed down tears the threatened to well up.

Seifer shook his head. “I don't think anyone knows, actually. You know what they say – 'the best place to commit a crime is in a crowd.'” He paused. “Actually, I'm not sure it goes like that, but you get the point.”

For reasons neither of them would ever understand, Demyx laughed at this.

“We miss you, you know,” the scarred teen informed him. “We don't care. About the Herpes, that is. To hell with the rest of the school.” When Demyx's shoulders shook, the shorter boy sighed and held out his arms. “Come on – I'm gay. I'm supposed to be good at this.”

The taller boy smiled, but didn't take the offered shoulder. “I'm okay,” he signed, earning himself a raised eyebrow.

“I'm not one of your hand-buddies,” the boy joked. “Knock it off, would you?”

-Visual-Boy-

For some reason, the state swim meet was over capacity. Demyx had a hard time hearing his coach over the roar of the crowd. The stands were so packed that people were sitting on the stairs. Most of them were teenagers. It didn't make any sense. Sure, the news had covered the unfortunate “accidental” death of one Zexion Corrazza, but that didn't mean people would be taking note of his school. Especially teenagers.

But they were there, and he was left to wonder.

Before long, the first event was called, and he stepped up to the dais.

Diving into the water, he thought he could hear the trill of a guitar, but he couldn't be sure. It wasn't until his second lap that he recognized the song – On a Plain by Nirvana. The lines “I'm on a plain. I can't complain,” were a dead givaway. He found the distraction a welcome one as he swam, and didn't really bother paying attention to anything other than he lap count.

He was surprised when he got out of the water and found his name being placed in the scoreboard's first slot. The crowd was cheering, and when he glanced over he was shocked to find signed being waved in the air. “Good luck, Demyx!” “Fight on, Captain!” They were hastily made, if the paint job was anything to go by. But it wasn't the letters that alarmed him; it was the signs spattered among them that read, “For Zexion.”

Turning to his team, he fought the rising lump in his throat.

The rest of the meet passed quickly, and the blond didn't keep track of his wins or losses. The coach never cornered him about being distracted, so he figured it went alright. It was only when someone approached him in the locker room that he snapped out of his haze. “There's someone outside waiting for you,” Xigbar said glumly, jerking a thumb in the direction of the door.

Demyx hadn't even realized he was there.

Towelling off quickly, he pulled on his clothes and left the locker room. But when a young girl, maybe around the age of thirteen, with brown hair that flipped up at the ends approached him, Demyx didn't really know what to do. Especially when she asked, “You're Demyx O'Donohue, right?”

Without much else to do, he nodded.

She smiled. “My name's Selphie. The others wanted to say hi, but they're all too chicken.”

Hoping the girl got the message, he tilted his head to the side.

“Oh!” she gasped, putting a hand up to her mouth in surprise. “Sorry – Zexion and I were in the hospital together a few years ago – in the intensive care ward. We're all from the hospital.” She motioned behind her to a large group of kids who remained mostly silent. They all had their eyes fixed on the pair, and a large portion of them held their cardboard signs close to their chests. “Most of them were with him in physical therapy, though. When Dad showed me the article in the newspaper I figured I'd get everyone together so we could show our support. So, here we are!”

At first her words didn't register with Demyx. They were here to show him support? They knew Zexion? Hospital?

The accident, he remembered suddenly. He'd been hospitalized for an entire year.

It explained so much – why the boy had never complained. Why he had never thought himself wronged by those around him. How could he have when so many people stood behind him? And possibly more?

Without warning, Demyx pulled the girl to him in a tight embrace, buring his face in her shoulder and hoping beyond hope that she understood him.

Thank you, he thought. Thank you so much.


	14. ASL Club: A Half Decent Love Story

The tale of Lexaeus and Zexion's meeting isn't a long one, for it was a truly brief affair. So too is the story of their relationship. It was all perfectly ordinary. And though their love wasn't one that warrants a great opera, or even an aria, a brief epilogue can be spared at its expense. For while it was not great and wonderful it makes for, at the very least, a half decent love story.

-Visual-Boy-

It all began in seventh-grade History, during which the two were assigned to sit next to each other. And while some stories begin by illustrating that the two main characters hit it off from the start, or were great enemies partaking in a fierce battle more bloody even than that 'tween heaven and hell in the pages of the bible, this tale can do no such thing. In all fact, the two were entirely indifferent to each other, just as any two strangers should be. Sitting beside a person does not make them your friend. No – the two coexisted in silence without acknowledging the other beyond asking for a spare pencil or to borrow an eraser.

And so life continued. Though it may be of note that Lexaeus, at that time, was even more scrawny than Zexion. Puberty had been kind to the (eventually) taller boy come High School, but until then he was the shortest in the class, teased for his ginger hair and an odd tendency to count how many cucumber slices were on his sandwiches.

-Visual-Boy-

It was September 14th, 1995 (a Thursday) and Zexion's Freshman year of High School, a good two weeks before Lexaeus would try out for the football team after his summer growth spurt. As it was the third day of school everyone was still settling into classes and switching schedules before the year went properly underway. Through a strange bit of luck the two were placed beside each other in Chemistry, where they proceeded to pretend to pay attention to the teacher. (Or, in Zexion's case, listen intently to every word the teacher spoke while pretending to not pay attention.)

As it was, Lexaeus had a hard time concentrating on anything. Here was this quiet, most likely smart kid sitting next to him who looked vaguely familiar. A dark figure from his past? A previous crush? No – it was that kid from middle school who didn't show up for eighth grade! Where had he been, anyway? Rumors hadn't been consistent, and had ranged from “he spent a year in Aspen” to “he jumped off a building to kill himself but went into a coma, during which the doctors surgically implanted mechanical organs in him so he'd survive, so now he's a cyborg.”

Least to say, cheerleaders couldn't be trusted.

With little else to do in the middle row, Lexaeus snatched up a pencil and wrote a single line in his notebook. Glancing up at the teacher, then to Zexion, he nudged the spiral over to the shorter boy. The lone line stared up at the ceiling for a long while after this. The slate-haired boy made no indication that he had seen the notebook, let alone the words in them. The Ginger-haired boy sat there, nervous, absolutely convinced the teacher had seen him pass the note and was holding out until after class to get him – and Zexion had miraculously seen this instead of him. It was beyond nerve-wracking. Then, finally, when the teacher had faced the class and turned his back three times, the smaller teen glanced at the page.

Where were you?

His eyebrows furrowed together, and he sent a confused glance Lexaeus' way. Much to the taller boy's relief, however, he wrote back.

What do you mean?

Lexaeus' response was almost immediate.

In eighth grade. We went to middle school, remember?

I think I'd remember someone like you.

We sat next to each other every day for a year.

Lexaeus?

The ginger-haired boy tried not to smile too broad at this, suddenly afraid of scaring the other teen off. How should he reply? What if he appeared overzealous? How would he get Zexion to answer him?

Yeah. Why'd you dye your hair?

He mentally patted himself on the back. After receiving the note the Freshman reached up idly to tug at his bangs. A long, tense minute passed in which the taller boy realized that all the other teen had to do was pass the notebook back and claim they should be paying attention to end the whole thing. Then, much to his surprise, Zexion bent over the desk and gave him an honest to goodness answer. For a teenager, that is.

I felt like it.

They did not speak privately for another year.

-Visual-Boy-

After getting drunk together with the shorter boy, Lexaeus asked Zexion on an honest to goodness date. They went to a little sushi restaurant where the owners didn't speak English, and the menus were two-sided. One side was in Japanese; the other in fluent Typo.

After eating they made a (completely necessary) stop at Powel's, where Zexion proceeded to buy two Star Trek novelizations and Lexaeus perused the at-home workout section. (He found nothing of interest.) Eventually, the pair made their way home, where Zexion fiddled with his keys and Lexaeus stood there like an idiot, wondering what was going on until the shorter boy grabbed him forcefully by the collar and dragged him down for a kiss. Unsuccessfully, one might note. Not only did he not have the strength to drag the taller boy down, but had somehow managed to smash his head into the screen door for his trouble.

The taller boy had reached up to observe the wound at that point, and eventually drew away like a gentleman. Zexion was disappointed by this.

Their second date, which was essentially dinner at Lexaeus' place when his parents were out, dissolved into a make-out session in the first thirty minutes when it became absolutely clear that their dinner was not salvageable.

-Visual-Boy-

There were many things that Zexion and Lexaeus were not able to learn about each other, and a greater number of things that they did.

They learned on their third date that neither could cook, and that Lexaeus was a very picky eater, which stemmed from an unusual case of Obsessive Compulsive Disorder. When there were not exactly eight pickles on his sandwich he would not touch it. For this reason his mother put extra pickles in his lunch for him to use should one fall off. The pickles had to be sliced, with the little frilly edges and a distinctly dill taste. Eventually, he learned to work around a shortage of pickles. When there were less than eight he would pick them all off, eat them, and pretend they had never been there.

Something said ginger-haired boy never told his boyfriend was that he wasn't a virgin.

Something Zexion never told him was where he had been for eighth grade.

But, again, what they did know what more important.

Lexaeus picked his nose whenever people weren't looking.

Zexion sucked his thumb when he dreamed.

Lexaeus mewled like a kitten in his sleep.

Zexion liked to pretend he was a ballet dancer and would leap about the house in nothing but boxers and a T-shirt when his mother wasn't around.

Lexaeus, shockingly enough, did the same.

But, most importantly, they both knew that the other cared. They weren't soul mates – and they certainly weren't in love. But they cared enough to be there, and that was all that really mattered.

The End


End file.
